


The Ultimate Prize

by Sage8771



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Olympics, Break Up, Competition, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Minor Injuries, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Olympics, Whirlwind Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-21 04:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13732722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sage8771/pseuds/Sage8771
Summary: Natalie is an afterthought for the Olympic skating team, happy to be there, but bound to prove she belongs.Negan is the star attraction, captain of the hockey team, and bent on getting another gold medal.Two athletes with nothing in common. Will his fire melt down her icy walls, and help her believe in herself?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CLTex84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CLTex84/gifts), [brandyo123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandyo123/gifts), [Queso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queso/gifts), [Saudade_Sehnsucht](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saudade_Sehnsucht/gifts).



> This is just a little mini-fic I'm playing around with since the Olympics are on. I know nothing about skating, so just go with it. The hockey, however, is all me. Enjoy!

   I tried to block out the sounds of debauchery outside my dorm room, but nothing was working. Not the pillow over my head, or the white noise machine I had blasting at full volume.

   The sounds of shrieks and laughter kept drifting in, and I was ready to burst into tears. 

   My first skate was tomorrow, the short program for the team medal, and I wanted to be at my best. I had made the team by the skin of my teeth, a replacement for Melody Vaughn, who had been caught using some unknown supplement to boost her performance. I'd received the call only a week before the start of the Olympics, and after a whirlwind of interviews, practices with my coach, Simon, and several sleepless nights, I was here in Geneva, with no expectations and no pressure, but all of the nerves. 

   There was a stumbling sort of sound just outside the door, and it whipped open as a flash of brown hair came streaking in. I sat up tiredly to see that it was my roommate, Maggie, her face flushed with happiness and her neck sporting several red marks.

   "He proposed, Nat," she shrieked, jumping up on my bed and bouncing up and down as I tried to steady myself. "Glenn finally proposed!"

  She was beyond comprehension, jumping so high that her head almost hit the ceiling. I watched her with wide eyes until she finally collapsed next to me, shaking me back and forth. I was never going to get any sleep now.

   "Congratulations, sweetie," I hugged her before flopping onto my back. 

   Maggie and Glenn had been ice dancing partners for years, and there had been fiery speculation as to whether or not they were a couple off of the ice. The two of them had been playing coy for years, but I knew that they were in love with each other since they were teenagers, paired up by their coach, Maggie's father Hershel. He was the gold standard amongst ice dancing coaches, and he hadn't left the Olympics without a medal in over twenty years. 

   He had trained me for over two years, trying me out with several different partners before gently suggesting to me that I go back to single skating. Despite my talent, I just couldn't seem to gel with a partner, the last one being Spencer Monroe. He'd gotten so irritated my 'cold fish' demeanor, as he put it, that he'd stormed off of the ice one day, vowing to quit before ever skating with me again. 

   It had been a huge blow to my confidence, and I'd retreated further inside of myself then, throwing myself headlong into my sport. It had worked, pushing me up the ranks of female skaters, but it got me no friends and certainly no suitors. Spencer, meanwhile, had gone on to pair up with Rosita Espinosa, a fiery little thing, and they had challenged Glenn and Maggie in every competition. It seemed that they would seesaw back and forth, splitting wins for the last few years, and there was a personal slant to this Olympics. 

   Both pairs wanted the gold, and though it had been stressed to everyone on the Olympic Ice team that we were, in fact, a team, I knew that they would be leaving everything on the ice to come out number one.

   As for me, I was happy to be here, with the bulk of expectations on Beth Greene, Maggie's sister. She was the phenom, the sixteen-year-old wunderkind that had the spotlight firmly on her. Beth was planning on her signature triple axel/triple-toe move to wow the judges, and I had no doubt that she'd succeed. Besides that, she was probably the sweetest girl in all of skating, doing it because she truly loved it. The popularity, the money, it all came second to her joy of performing.

   Still, I didn't want to make a fool of myself tomorrow, and after listening to Maggie tell me in excruciating detail about the proposal, how he got down on one knee in front of everyone, and how he'd scattered rose petals all over his dorm room, I hugged her once more. 

   "I'm freaking thrilled for you, sweetie, but I have to be at the arena at the break of dawn tomorrow, and I'm really nervous," I told her as she snuggled down next to me on my twin bed.

   "I'm sorry, Nat," she sighed. "I'll try to be a better roommate, I swear."

   "Oh, it's not that, Mags, I just...this is all new to me and it's overwhelming. I don't want to look like a fool on the ice. I know I have no chance."

   "Okay, first of all, you definitely have a chance to medal. And you do belong here. You worked your ass off to make it, and if Melody hadn't been a doping creep, she still doesn't have the talent that you do. You just have to believe in yourself and loosen the fuck up."

   I frowned at those words, but she kissed me on the cheek before going in to get ready for bed. When she came out, she was looking at her new ring in awe, nearly running into the bed. 

   "Can you believe all the athletes that the U.S. brought this year?" she asked as she crawled under the sheets of her own bed. "I mean, there's over four hundred this year, plus Negan."

   I felt my face heat up as she turned out the light, and I decided to play stupid since everyone in America knew Negan. Hell, he didn't even have a last name.

   "You know," she teased with a coy tone. "The Captain of the hockey team. The belle of the ball, the man of the hour, the face of the Olympics, and the hottest guy in town."

   Oh, yes he was. I had gotten a glimpse of him when we made our way through the arena in the opening ceremony. He had been the hands-down pick to carry the flag, and his face lit up all over the arena to cheers, mostly from women. He was the most famous hockey player in the world, and a renowned sex symbol to boot. 

   I kept back to myself during the ceremony, taking pictures to send my mom and dad, and basically just trailing along with Maggie and Glenn. I'd also managed to avoid a run-in with Spencer and Rosita just narrowly, and it was only to my benefit. Whenever we ran into each other, he always liked to bring up the fact that his partner was much better than me, and his medals proved it. Yay, Spencer, you jackass.

   Closed off, cold, icy, determined, unknown. These were all attributes used to describe me over the past few weeks. I was an enigma to the press because I never gave them any good sound bites. I was calm, precise, and gave away nothing because there was nothing to give. In fact, I much preferred for them to focus on Beth, the real star here. I was a spare, and I knew my place. It didn't mean I wasn't going to work my ass off, though.

   As I began to fall asleep, I browsed around in my memories of the opening ceremony. The pageant of it, the sheer amount of athletes, and Negan, walking tall and proud in the front with the flag. He had dark hair, a close-cropped beard, and brown eyes that could melt the ice he was going to be skating on. From what I'd heard about him, he'd be melting panties for the next two weeks as well. Sex, and lots of it took place in these villages, and many considered it to be a great way to blow off steam and nervous energy. 

   Well, that wouldn't be me. This girl was going to prepare, prepare and prepare some more, mostly because I didn't want Simon thinking that he'd made a mistake by pushing for me to take Melody's place. 

  I'd just leave Negan and all of the other gorgeous men to my dreams.

   That's what I told myself, anyway.


	2. We're Talkin' About Practice

   Stifling a yawn, I quietly picked up my bag, easing out of my room as Maggie snored softly behind me. Yep, she snored, even though she insisted heatedly that she didn't any time that Glenn, Beth or I told her that she did. Part of me wanted to go back in and catch the sound on my cell phone, but I decided that I liked not having a black eye for my very first Olympic performance, and I carried on my way.

   It seemed like every four years, the skating rules changed, and this one was no exception. For the team medals, the top seven countries were competing, making it a slim field. The United States was fighting against Canada, France, Japan, China, the Russians, and Italy, who was the surprise inclusion after they swept the last World's Competition. Each team had two skaters for each event, and I was on deck tonight for the short program along with Amber, another one of the girls on our circuit.

   Me, they'd picked because I was technically flawless, though I lacked 'life' on the ice. Amber, they went with because she was passable with the details but held a larger than life personality while skating. Beth and I were going to do the long program, and Amber and Beth were going to do the free skate. Likewise, the rest of the team had been doled out the same way. Your points went into the 'pot' for the team, and at the end of all of the competitions, the winning country would get the gold.

   The individual events would take place the following week, and we'd all be performing alone for those. For now, I just wanted to get my first routine out of the way, figuring if I could get through the nerves of being in front of an international audience and hundreds of millions watching at home, the rest would fall into place.

   Which was why I was glad when Simon suggested I take the first open spot for the practice skate. There would be fewer people up and about, and I wouldn't have as many eyes on me as I went through my final preparations.

   First, I needed to get some breakfast, and I wandered through the corridors until I found the exit, jogging through the brisk air towards the cafeteria. It was as big as a department store and offered every kind of food imaginable since there were athletes from all over the world.

   Surprisingly, the room was half full, some people up early to train, and others that I didn't think had gone to bed yet. It was like being back in high school as I wandered through the room, loaded down with my bag and my tray of food. Everyone seemed to congregate in groups, separated by sport, and I searched blindly for anyone that I knew, though I had no problem eating alone.

   I spotted a comrade, and a smile formed on my face as I headed towards the grumpiest looking person there, hunched over his tray with hair hanging everywhere.

   "Morning," I said in a chirpy voice, getting a death stare back for my trouble. Apparently, Paul was not the one, and he grunted at me before taking a sip of coffee. "Papa Bear's not in a good mood this morning?"

   "No, he's not," he growled at me, and I shut up for the time being. Paul 'Jesus' Monroe was the gloriously gorgeous gay men's skater that was the Negan of the homosexual world. He had blogs devoted to his every move, graced the covers of magazines on the daily, and had a boyfriend that was playing for the hockey team. Like Beth, all of the expectations for a medal were on his shoulder, and he was more than up to the task, just not at six o'clock in the morning.

   "Have you even been to bed yet?" I asked, shoveling in a bite of my egg-white omelet, giving him a bland look. It was best to proceed with caution when Papa Bear was grumpy.

   "I went to bed at three," he groused, picking at an Egg McMuffin while I worked on my decidedly more healthy breakfast. "Daryl dragged me to that god-awful hockey party last night, and I may or may not have had way too much to drink."

   I almost scolded him about drinking when he had to skate that day, but I caught myself at the last minute, thinking about skating with a black eye again. He was an adult, and he could do what he wanted, though I dreaded dealing with him for the next few hours. Normally, he liked to be the first one on the ice, but today he looked like he'd rather just skip it altogether.

   The men and women were competing on the same day, since there was a compressed schedule, and the men were going first this afternoon. I wasn't slated to be on the ice until after eight tonight, which left me plenty of time to prepare both physically and mentally, though I was going to be there to cheer our boys on. Jesus was one of my best friends, one of the few I had, and I just knew in my heart that this was his year to win. He'd narrowly missed out on the gold the last go around, and he was determined not to make any mistakes this time.

   "Are you still coming to the first game with me tomorrow?" he asked as we walked through the quiet village towards the practice arena.

   "I guess so," I hedged, hoping for an out if I did horribly tonight, but he pulled me along, forcing me to walk faster as our combined breath billowed out in puffy clouds. For someone that had spent his life on the ice, he was a real baby when outside in the cold.

   "Listen, Nat, you're not going to hide in your room for two weeks. We're going to the other events. It'll help you loosen up."

   Okay, this was the second time in less than twelve hours that I'd been told I needed to loosen up, and it was starting to piss me off. So, I wasn't the life of the party. Big deal. I was focused on doing what I came to do, and that should be a good thing.

   "Lose the bitch face," he snarked, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. "You have enough of a rep as it is."

   "I'm fun," I mumbled, elbowing him in the side. "I'm loads of fucking fun."

   "Yes you are, sweetie," he used his indulgent baby voice, and it was like a knife to my ears. He knew me well enough to know that I hated it. "But you don't show it enough. I happen to know that you're a fucking riot, but you keep yourself closed off from everyone that's not in your tight little circle. You need to show some of that personality to everyone else, and they'll fall in love with you like the rest of us have."

   "Paul, I can't be something I'm not. When I'm out there, I'm focused. It's how I land the jumps that I do. It's how I do everything that I do. It's gotten me where I am."

   "I know that," he said softly, pulling me closer. "And I know your mom is the reason that you try so hard. But skating isn't everything. You need to have something else in your life when this is all said and done. It won't last forever."

   God damn it, he played the mom card. He knew it was my sore spot, and I made a note to myself to call and check in with her when I was done practicing.

   "I'll try," I said dully, hoping that it was the end of the conversation. "That's all I can do."

   He kissed me on the cheek, brushing his ice-cold nose against my skin, and I took off at a run, leaving him in the dust as I darted through the doors past a sleepy guard who just waved us on.

   Once I got changed into my practice gear, I made my way out to the ice, where Simon was leaning against the wall with a big cup of coffee, blowing on it to cool it down.

   "There's my girl," he called out happily, pulling me into a hug. "Are you ready to leave it all on the ice?"

   "Always."

   It was our routine, him and I. He asked me the same question every time and I provided the same answer. Sympatico, we were.

   As soon as I set foot on the ice, I became a different person, shutting out all of the doubts, all of the criticisms, all of the speculation. My mind went into battle mode, and I became the machine that everyone always talked about. For the next hour, I skated around with surgical precision, performing every jump, every spin like I was already in competition, analyzing every landing, every rotation as I frequently checked in with Simon, who offered only a few critiques.

   He was still trying to work out a few last minute flourishes, his mouth turning down as I completed a spin. When he'd suggested the music to me, I'd originally balked. 'Amore o Grillo' from Madame Butterfly was his selection, and I'd initially dismissed it. Love or fancy? So not me. But the piece was beautiful, and he'd honed the routine so that it matched the music perfectly. My robotic nature was still the problem, and he looked worried for the first time since I'd been chosen for the team.

   The team costumer, Carol, had come up with a really pretty costume, in pale pastels with a butterfly on the back. Its body went down along my spine, and the wings spread across my back. It was simple and understated, tying it right to the song, and secretly, I was a little in love with it. Normally, I wore very simple outfits so that my moves were the focus, but this time, she'd really gone above and beyond.

   As my time wore on, I could see Jesus waiting impatiently for his turn on the ice, and I did a few more obnoxious spins, just to annoy him. I was coming out of a particularly long one when I noticed that Simon was hugging someone. When I came to a stop, I nearly had a heart attack. He was talking to none other than Negan himself, the god incarnate of the Olympics.

   I did a few slow turns, wiping my forehead when Simon waved me over, and I could feel my heart starting to thump as I got closer. I was never one to get intimidated by famous people, but this was no ordinary guy. He was a two-time gold medal winner, owner of three Stanley Cups back-to-back, and more trophies that you could shake a stick at. He _was_ hockey, and had been for more than twenty years since he burst onto the scene as an eighteen-year-old. He was LeBron, he was ARod, he was Tom Brady all rolled into one, and right now, he was smirking at me.

   "Natalie Baker, I'd like you to meet my oldest friend in the world and my former teammate. Negan, this is my Nat, my favorite pupil in the entire fucking universe, and future Olympic champion."

   I rolled my eyes at such a platitude, and I stuck out my hand to shake his.

   "Nice to meet you," I said politely, if not formally, waiting for him to reach out and take my hand. Instead, he studied me, as if not believing that I had the audacity to greet him like he was a mortal. His eyes narrowed and he scrunched up his nose, turning to Simon with a grin.

   " _Really_?"

   I almost turned around and skated away, completely and utterly offended that this cocky jackass expected me to kiss his feet just because he'd deigned to get introduced to me, but he finally took my hand, pumping it up and down once before shaking his head as if I'd just sprouted two more heads. What the fuck?

   "Man, you really live up to the hype," he said dismissively as he looked at Simon. "The Ice Queen in the flesh."

    _Oh, fuck you, man._ Simon knew I hated that nickname, with all of its implications, and I could see him give Negan a warning look, but it was too late.

   I skated around in a small circle before bowing to him like he was royalty, nearly touching my nose to the ice, straightening up and giving him a sarcastic smile.

   "I apologize, Your Highness. I wouldn't want to offend your delicate sensibilities so early in the morning."

   With that, I gave him the finger, skating at a clip towards the other side of the rink and scooting off of the ice past Jesus, whose mouth was hanging wide open. _That_ was the guy who got every woman he'd ever met to pant after him like a bitch in heat? What an asshole. I don't give a shit how good-looking he was, he had the personality of a petulant brat, someone who'd been given everything he ever wanted in life, yet still clamored for more.

   I stomped towards the locker room after sheathing my blades, throwing myself down onto the bench.

   The Ice Queen.

   The media had given me the moniker after one of Spencer's tell-all interviews, and the name had stuck for years. Because God forbid a woman in sports be focused and not prone to silliness. That made her an Ice Queen. A bitch. A man like Negan has aspirations and he's driven and focused. A woman does, and she's immediately unlikeable and flawed. What the fuck ever. It only served to fuel me on, to make me want to win more than ever, to prove that you could be a winner and not have to play the game.

   Once I got cleaned up and changed, I hiked my way up to the upper level to watch Jesus practice. Simon and Negan were still chatting below, and I studied the other man with narrowed eyes. He was gorgeous and he knew it. Wearing a Team USA sweatsuit, he had a red scarf wrapped around his neck, and he toyed with it absently as he and Simon engaged in a spirited conversation, with Simon's hands moving wildly. I would have given my left boob to know what they were talking about, when suddenly Negan's eyes drifted upwards, locking on mine.

   A slow smile formed on his lips, and he blew me a kiss. Like the Ice Queen I was, I pretended to catch it, before jamming it around my extended middle finger like it was a ring. He let out a bellowing laugh that reverberated around the arena before slapping Simon on the shoulder and strolling away, whistling as he disappeared into the darkness.

   No, I didn't think I'd be going to the hockey game tomorrow, no matter how the competition went tonight.


	3. Facing the Past

 

   The applause thundered around me as I skated in a circle, collecting a few teddy bears that were thrown on the ice, smiling as much as I ever did after a performance. It was automatic, even though my brain was in overdrive, running through what I'd just done, searching for mistakes like a computer looked for errors in code. 

   When I got to Simon, I could see cautious optimism in his eyes, and he folded me into a hug as cameras swirled around us, trying to catch any sound bite that they could.

   "Great job, Tallie," he whispered, lifting me off of my feet. "You didn't miss a thing."

   "Thank you," I said as he set me down, leading me towards the bench so that we could wait for my scores. As per usual, I landed every jump that I attempted, only faltering slightly on the triple toe combination that I'd done at the end. It meant more points, and thankfully I didn't completely fall, though I mentally kicked myself for my mistake. 

   Carol put her arm around me, holding my hand after I handed her the bears, ones that I would donate as soon as I got home. I always did, spending a lot of my off-time visiting children that were afflicted with MS. Since my mom had been diagnosed when I was a child, I'd felt a calling to support others who were suffering as well. Up until the Olympics, not a lot of people knew just how much I'd tried to do to help raise both funds and the spirits of children who were already so physically compromised that they were missing out on the joy of just being kids. 

   My own mother, who was now wheelchair bound, was unable to come to watch her only child perform, though I called her regularly since I'd arrived, and I knew she was rooting me on from home. Still, the childish part of me wished that she was here, my biggest supporter. 

   Simon pinched my leg lightly to get my attention back, and I watched as the scores came up with a nice cheer from the crowd. I was the seventh skater for the evening, and I was currently sitting in second place, only behind Autumn Pascale from Canada. She was the Angelina Jolie of the ice, a beautiful enigma that could charm the pants off of any man in existence. 

   I gave the crowd a perfunctory smile and a wave, genuinely happy with my scores, though the only reason I was in second place was because of the technical side of it. I got my lowest score ever for creativity, and I knew it would chafe at me over the next few days. 

   As soon as the camera cut away, I got to my feet to go get changed so that I could cheer on Amber as she got ready to skate. Jesus was waiting for me in the hallway, and he picked me up, twirling me around, almost knocking over the Chinese skater that was waiting in the wings.

   I apologized hastily before dragging Jesus into the dressing room with me. 

   "Day one and we're in first fucking place baby, thanks to that score," he crowed, dancing around me as I unlaced my skates. "As long as Amber doesn't fuck up, we're gold. All gold."

   Jesus was just too much at that moment, but I expected it. He'd gone balls to the wall in his performance, earning record high scores. It was enough to counterbalance Siddiq's less than inspired performance, and thanks to Patrick Balt's epic fall during the Canadian portion, the USA was indeed doing well. But it was still too early to count our golden eggs before they hatched. 

   "So, how rigid was I tonight?" I asked as I stepped out of my costume, completely nude since Jesus couldn't give a shit, though he did eyeball my breasts for a second before speaking.

   "Not bad," he said carefully, handing me a bra and a pair of panties, staring as I slipped them on. 

   "Aren't you gay?" I sassed him, sliding into exercise pants and he gave me a sexy grin. 

   "I am, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate the beauty of the female form. I just don't want to fuck it. If I did though," he sauntered over to me, shaking his hips in a lazy motion, "I'd be all over those tits. They are divine." He felt me up through my sweatshirt, and I laughed heartily. It was the most action I'd received in years. Not since...Spencer.

   Just like that, a dark cloud settled over me and Jesus sighed. 

   "Enough, Nat. It was years ago and he's a dick. Let it go."

   I shrugged, wiping off some of the garish makeup that I wore to something a little more manageable. Once I got my shoes on, we linked arms to go out and join the rest of our team in the box as we waited for Amber to skate. 

   She was next to last, and the Canadians were putting on a hell of a show tonight. The other skater, Donna Poole, vaulted above me, pushing me to third place, and I nearly snarled in frustration on camera. 

   "It's only the first night," Maggie whispered behind me, mentally telling me to fix my face, and I flashed a good-natured smile that caught the camera. 

  _Come on, Amber. Do whatever it is that you do to win the crowd. We need the points._

   Simon was nowhere to be found, and when I scanned the crowd, I saw that he was standing near the first row of seats, talking to that fucking Negan again. He caught me staring, and he nodded his head in deference, mouthing something to me that I couldn't understand, so I turned back around and faced forward to watch my teammate as she slid out onto the ice. 

   She centered herself in the middle of the floor, waiting for her music to begin, a classical piece by Bach filling the arena. Amber was like an angel, light on her feet, ethereal in her flowy, white outfit, blonde ponytail laced with jewels, gliding around with a dreamy smile and beautiful moves. She really was enchanting on the ice, and when she finished, there was a huge round of applause and cheers. Why was I able to appreciate everyone else's performances without mindlessly critiquing them like I did my own?

   She sat down to get her scores, ending up in third and pushing me to fourth. I bit back the disappointment that I felt, reminding myself that this was a team event and my placement didn't matter. The points do, and given what we'd accomplished as a group, we were fine. I just had to figure out how to jack up the creative scores for my long program in two days. 

   It was still early as we all filed out, and Daryl, Jesus' boyfriend was waiting outside of the athlete's exit, planting a sweet kiss on his lips to congratulate him. I swear, about ten different women swooned at the gesture, and I trailed behind Beth, Maggie, and Glenn, listening quietly as they chattered on about the next day. My thoughts eventually turned back to my own skate, and the frustration that I couldn't get my creativity scores up. Short of acting like something I wasn't, I didn't know what to do. I'd have to talk to Simon in the morning. 

   But first, I was in for some major embarrassment when we got back to the dorms. Our dorm was small, and housed both the women's and men's hockey and skating teams from every country. It was already a raucous crowd when we got inside, and Jesus pulled me towards the lounge so that I could watch the replay of my competition. 

   There were dozens of people scattered around. Some were literally lounging around, others were playing darts and foosball. A few were snacking and still others were on the verge of making out. I grumbled under my breath as he deposited me on the couch flipping on the giant screen tv to show me the little fluff piece that they'd apparently shown before I skated.

   Once it had been announced that I was on the team, a camera crew had been dispatched to do a piece on me, to help everyone get to know me better. It hadn't gone well in my opinion, so I wondered what they'd been able to cobble together. 

   A few minutes were spent talking about how I got into the sport at the age of four, cheered on by my dad and my mom, who was later diagnosed with MS. It cut to me talking about my mom and how she was the most important person in my life, and that every time I skated, it was for her. 

   "Look at that emotion and tenderness," Maggie observed quietly as I fidgeted in my seat. "It's in there, Nat."

   I didn't answer as the next part showed me visiting sick kids in the hospital, bringing them some of the gifts that I receive during competitions, and there was no dialogue, just soft music playing while I go from child to child, smiling and talking to them, brushing their hair back, and giving them presents with encouraging words that I'd handwritten and tied around the necks of the bears. 

   Finally, it showed me in my house, pointing out the medals and trophies I'd won when a big, yellow blur comes streaking into the shot, knocking me on my ass as I laugh wildly. It's my dog, Murphy Brown Baker, and I can already tell he's going to become an overnight star as the camera lingers on him throwing himself on me, wiggling and kissing me as I struggle to sit up. I'm laughing hysterically as I try to get free, planting a big kiss on the top of his head. The segment ended with a close-up of my smiling face.

   I got up to leave, but I was pulled back down by Maggie to listen to the commentary after my package ran. Both correspondents, Michael James and Darby Smith, opined that I was quite capable of showing a playful, loving side, confused as to why I couldn't translate it to the ice.

   "She has all of the talent, and if she would just let herself go a little bit during her programs, she'd have the crowd eating out of her hand," Darby said as Michael nodded enthusiastically. "She's a dark horse for this competition, and hopefully, someone will be able to break down those carefully constructed walls."

   Well, that's nice.

   Maggie shut off the television as I felt my face burn. Nothing like being dissected on national tv with everyone I know sitting around watching it.

   "Thanks, that was fun to see," I told her brightly, getting to my feet. "I'm going to go get changed and head to bed."

   "Oh, no you're not," Jesus said, bursting through the door and dragging Daryl along with him. "We're fucking celebrating tonight. Put on your cutest outfit and haul ass back down here so we can have some fun."

   I knew that look on his face, and if I didn't do what he said, he'd bring everyone in the building into my room, so I sighed dramatically, turning away from him to gather my bag.

   That was when I saw that Negan was sitting on the edge of the pool table watching us as Autumn had her legs wrapped around him from behind, kissing the side of his neck. He had that stupid smirk on his face, and he tilted his head to the side to give Autumn more access, rubbing her legs absently as he winked at me. Awesome. He'd seen the entire program. Like I didn't have enough problems.

   I swung the bag over my shoulder, making my way to the other side of the room, nearly getting away when I heard his husky voice call out for me to stop. I was half-tempted to keep walking, but logic bled through, and I didn't want to make a scene, so I turned and gave him a tolerant smile that hopefully also said, 'hurry the fuck up'.

   "I watched your program," he told me, sneaking a glance back at Autumn who was sitting there dumbfounded as if she couldn't quite believe that he'd left the sanctity of her open legs to speak with the likes of me. "Simon was right about you. You're talented as all fuck."

   "Thanks," I said, crossing my arms and waiting for the other shoe to drop. "That's quite an eloquent assessment."

   To my surprise, he let out that booming laugh, one that caught the attention of every person in the common area. All of their heads swiveled around for a brief second, and it was like a needle scratch moment. Everything got quiet for about ten seconds, and then the commotion returned to the room.

   "Simon's also right about the fact that you're so fucking tight it's a wonder you don't shit out diamonds."

   "Well, if I can trust anyone's expertise on figure skating, it would have to be yours," I snapped, hating that it made him smile even wider. "Allow me to offer you some return advice, just for shits and giggles. Angelina isn't going to wait around for you forever. She's horny after the competition and looking for anyone to screw her. The longer you stand here insulting me, the quicker she's going to move onto the next guy to walk by."

   He frowned, looking almost confused.

   "I thought her name was Autumn?"

   "Jeez, man," I laughed. "Do you even listen to them when they talk? Or are you just planning out what you're going to say to get them out of your room when you're done?"

   He opened his mouth to reply, but I didn't stick around, I just stalked off towards the door, ducking behind it to watch what happened next. Sure enough, he walked back over to her, murmuring in her ear with a grin, and almost immediately, she pushed him away to jump down from the pool table, giving him an earful before stomping off.

   Negan stood there for a second with his mouth open like he couldn't quite believe what happened, and when he managed to look my way again, I was standing in the doorway with a smile. His eyes narrowed dangerously, but I blew him a kiss before taking off for my room. Suck on that, jerk.

   I was just putting the finishing touches on my makeup when Jesus came walking into my room unannounced with Daryl in tow. I shot him a look in the mirror, but he gave me the 'get a move on' motion, and I tucked a tube of lip gloss in my pocket, rushing him out of my room.

   "So, what's the plan?" I asked, walking behind the two men as they held hands.

   "We're thinking karaoke," Jesus said, glancing back at me as I rolled my eyes.

   "You've got to be kidding me."

   "Nope. Everyone's already there, and they're cueing up my music as we speak," he chuckled, pulling me up so that I was walking next to them.

   "Whatever," I mumbled, knowing I wasn't getting a say so. "As long as that asshole isn't there."

   "Negan?"

   Jesus gave me doe eyes and I raised my eyebrows in response.

   "He ain't a bad guy," Daryl mumbled, staring straight ahead. "He's actually pretty cool."

   I let out a very unattractive snort, and they both looked at me strangely. "Maybe if you have a penis. 'Cause if you don't, he's either going to insult you or hit on you."

   Daryl laughed, the most amused sound I'd ever heard him make, and Jesus kissed him on the side of his mouth as we walked, making us an awkward threesome if ever there was one.

   When we got to the karaoke lounge, it was filled with athletes, some already drunk.

   A cup of beer was thrust into my hand by Daryl, and I sipped it at first as we made our circuit around the room. I could see why the sex was rampant around here. Gorgeous and fit men and women were everywhere, their libidos ramped up by the sight of the opposite sex, or same, depending on your preference. Everyone was wound up and excited, and it made for some very attractive bedfellows. 

   Thankfully, asshole Negan was nowhere to be seen, and I started to relax, wondering who he'd managed to scrape up at the last minute to fuck around with. Hopefully not Autumn. If the girl had any backbone, she'd tell him to pound sand, though I doubted it. Women all over the compound were gossiping about Negan and how best to catch his eye. From what I'd heard, he was really good in bed, but to me, what was the difference when you had to deal with his unpleasant personality? I mean, what if you didn't worship him enough while you were doing it? Was he going to kick you out mid-screw?

   I snickered at the image, downing the rest of my beer as I sat down near the performance area. There was a backlog of people who wanted to get up there and sing, and some of them were actually good. Maybe this wasn't so bad, socializing once in a while. The beer was going down nicely, and the last three performers had picked decent songs. 

   That was, until Maggie and Glenn got up, forcing everyone to listen to the sappiest version of 'Islands in the Stream' as they stared at each other lovingly. Oh, barf.

   I got up with a giggle, heading over to the vending machine that dispensed beers by country, and I slid my i.d. in, receiving a fresh one, propping myself against the wall as I sucked down half of it in one gulp. Apparently, the amount of alcohol that I consumed was directly proportional to the quieting of my busy mind, and after a few more, I leaned against the wall with my eyes shut and a dopey grin on my face.

   "You know, cockblocking me was a very fucking uncool thing to do."

   I forced my eyes to open, and I promptly rolled them before draining the last of my beer. 

   "Oh please," I muttered over the strains of a badly sung version of 'Honky Tonk Woman'. "I figured you'd be knee deep in groupies by now. In fact, I thought you had one of those 'take a number' thingies outside your room. 'Now serving number sixty-nine'." 

   I laughed like a fool at my own joke, and Negan watched me with a bemused look.

   "How do you know I don't?"

   "Do you literally _not_ have anyone else that you can bother right now? I'm trying to loosen the fuck up," I hiccupped, pushing myself off of the wall. Bad move.

   My view shifted dangerously as I walked with halting steps towards the corridor, and Negan was hot on my heels. When I rounded the corner, I came to a sudden stop, and he bumped into my back.

   Spencer was right in front of me with his hand in Rosita's pants and his tongue down her throat, grinding on her like they were in a very sloppy porno. I felt sick, like I could throw up at any moment, and I dropped my cup on the tile floor where it clattered loudly, echoing throughout the space. The two of them broke apart, looking startled until Spencer saw it was me, and he glanced behind me with a sneer.

   "Oh man, are you barking up the wrong tree," he slurred at Negan as Rosita frantically buttoned up her pants, giving me a sympathetic look. "She's not just a cold fish on the ice, man. She's frigid in the bedroom, too."

   "Spencer," Rosita hissed, yanking him by the arm, and I stumbled as Negan pushed me roughly out of the way, landing on my former boyfriend before anyone could blink. He grabbed him by the neck, slamming him against the opposite wall as I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from vomiting. 

   "Listen up, you dopey motherfucker. If you so much as say one more word about her, to her, or near her, you're going to get an up close and personal introduction to Lucille. Do you know who that is?" he said in a harsh voice as both Rosita and I stood rooted to our spots. 

   Spencer clawed at Negan's hand, shaking his head as Negan lifted him higher so that his toes were just barely touching the floor. 

   "Lucille is my stick, and I have no fucking problem jamming her so far up your ass that you'll be walking funny for the rest of your life. Do we understand each other?"

   Spencer shot me a look before Negan pulled him forward and slammed him back against the wall, making him let out a gasping breath.

    _"Do we understand each other?"_

   "Yes." 

   It was a gasping sound, and I stumbled past the spectacle, using the other wall to hold myself up, feeling my way along as my eyes filled with tears. I made it around the corner before Negan caught up to me, putting his hand on my shoulder. I shook him off, wiping my eyes before slumping to the ground with a hoarse cry. 

   "Hey," he said softly, squatting down next to me. "Where's your room sweetheart?"

   I didn't answer, burying my face against my knees, feeling dizzy and sick, and not just because of the alcohol. Since it was clear I wasn't going to respond, he tucked his arm under my knees and hauled me up into his arms, carrying me down the hall and away from the group of people that had started to gather. I didn't even fight him.

   "Where are you staying?" he tried again and I let out a drunken laugh, using one of my hands to wipe away the fresh tears. 

   "Where do cold fish stay? The ocean?"

   He sighed, hiking me up higher in his arms, and I shut my eyes again, getting dizzier by the second, nearly falling asleep until I felt myself being set down on a soft mattress.

   Automatically, I curled up on my side, letting out a shuddering breath, and before I passed out for good, I felt rough hands smoothing my hair back. 

   "Simon was right to worry about you, sweetheart. You're headed for a big fall."


	4. Stop Pucking With Me

  
   Maggie stood in front of the treadmill with her arms crossed and a deep frown on her face as I pointedly ignored her, going so far as to raise the volume on my iPod so that I wouldn't hear anything that she had to say. 

   Two hours ago, I'd woken up in a strange room with an arm thrown casually around my waist and enough sand in my mouth to open my own beach. A wave of nausea had overwhelmed me as my head swam with the effects of drinking way too much coupled with the distinct memory of seeing Spencer and Rosita going at it like rabbits. It wasn't just the sight of seeing the man that I thought I'd loved with another woman. It was also the fact that he'd hurt me so terribly, both off of the ice and on it. 

   Cold fish. Ice Queen. Impenetrable. Unlovable. 

   The problem wasn't that I'd been labeled all of those things. It was the fact that deep down, I wasn't any of them. I wanted to be loved just like anyone else. I wanted the kind of relationship that my parents had. Two people that were hopelessly in enamored with each other to this day, despite the challenges that they faced with my mother's illness. My father still looked at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever laid eyes on. 

   But I didn't have time for that. I couldn't put myself first when all of the money I won in competitions went towards helping them out. I knew that it wasn't my responsibility, technically. But these were the people who had sacrificed everything so that I could live my dream. Money for costumes and coaches, constant traveling and staying in cheap hotels so that I could compete anywhere and everywhere. I owed them my life, and that was what I paid. Insurance, treatments, medications, I took care of it all and I was happy to do so. But it pushed me to be the best, to do more so that they could live comfortably.

   I felt warm breath on the back of my neck, and I realized all of a sudden where I was. Negan's room. I remembered him throwing Spencer into the wall as I stood like a zombie, threatening him. The question was why? Why did he give a shit what Spencer said or did where I was concerned? This was a man that had spent the previous twenty-four hours insulting and intentionally offending me, reminding me of that awful nickname. He was the last person I thought would have come to my defense. 

   Moving my head incrementally, I sighed internally in relief to see that I still had all of my clothes on. Nothing had apparently happened between us, and I might be able to sneak out with my dignity intact. This man had dated countless starlets and models, slept with probably half of North America, and he was snuggled up against me snoring. 

   As carefully as I could, I lifted his arm off of my hip, freezing when he mumbled and holding my breath as he rolled over to face the other direction. Once I was sure he was still out, I eased off of the bed and grabbed my shoes before tiptoeing to the door. It was completely silent in his room, and I turned the knob slowly, slipping out through the smallest crack in the door imaginable. 

   There were only a few people milling around outside, and I made the walk of shame back to my room, more disturbed by the fact that he'd seen me cry than the possibility that people would think that I was his latest conquest. 

   I never cried. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I'd shed a tear outside of when my mom told me that she'd been relegated to a wheelchair permanently. It just wasn't in my genes. 

   Maggie was awake and sitting on her bed waiting for me when I finally stumbled in, but I went straight into the bathroom, making myself throw up before taking a lukewarm shower. Alcohol was definitely off the table for the rest of my time here, and I just wanted to run the shitty feeling away. 

   But my roommate was like a dog with a bone, and she appeared in front of me over an hour ago, refusing to move even though I wouldn't look at her. I could see her mouth moving, but I gestured to my ears, and she threw up her hands before reaching over and yanking my earbuds out.

   "I can do this all damned day, Nat," she sniped, crossing her arms again. I ran for five more minutes before slowing down the treadmill and walking down my heart rate. When I finally shut the machine off, she followed me over to a table in the corner, perching next to me as I drank some water to cool down. I was shaky from not eating dinner, and as soon as I could, I was going to the cafeteria to rectify that, but I knew I wasn't going anywhere until I spoke up, so I told her as quickly as possible as much as I remembered about the previous night.

   The longer I spoke, the angrier she seemed to get, and I ended up patting her arm as her face turned three shades of red. 

   "If I see that motherfucker before tonight, I might just shove my skate up his ass," she fumed, her eyes unfocusing at the thought. "Why didn't you tell me he'd been bullying you?"

   "I don't know," I drawled, resorting to sarcasm. "Maybe because you'd put a skate up his ass? I've handled it so far."

   "Just because you two didn't work out does not mean he gets to act like an asshat. We're supposed to be a team here. Although, I'm more determined than ever to beat him on the ice."

   I gave her a crooked smile as I wiped my sweaty face, feeling iffy for the moment. 

   "I hope you do."

   Her eyes lit up as she looked beyond me, and I didn't need to turn around to know why. Glenn joined us a second later, kissing Maggie tenderly before giving me an impish smile. 

   "Good morning," he teased, waggling his eyebrows. "Word around town is that you left Negan's room early this morning."

   "Nothing happened," I said hotly, picking at the label of my water bottle. "I passed out there. That's all."

   "Maybe he's not the guy you think he is," Maggie mused, leaning back into Glenn's chest. 

   "Meaning?" It was Glenn that said it before I did, and she gave me a dreamy smile.

   "Meaning, there might be a heart of gold under all of that attitude. He threatened Spencer because he witnessed him being a dickhead, and he carried you to his room and let your sloppy, drunk self sleep there so that you were safe. And, he didn't appear to try anything with you."

   "Oh, pfft," I said, blowing a raspberry. "I'm not his type."

   "What's his type?" Glenn asked innocently and I told him through laughter.

   "Easy."

   They spent the next few minutes teasing me until we all headed to the cafeteria to eat. It was still early, and I was hoping to avoid Jesus for as long as possible to make sure I didn't get dragged to the hockey game. In truth, I loved hockey. I'd grown up on it with my dad commandeering the television, and I'd seen Negan play for years. So the fact that I'd woken up with his arm around me felt surreal. Never mind the fact that he'd seen me at a low point, one I didn't want anyone to know about. 

   It was cool, though. I'd just spend the next two weeks avoiding him whenever possible. If I didn't see him, it didn't happen, right?

   Though I was probably overreacting, it felt like all eyes were on me when we joined the breakfast eaters, and I picked the table that sat under an alcove, away from as many people as possible. Today was my off-day, and I wanted to get in a practice before enjoying some downtime. 

   Maggie and Glenn left me halfway through the meal to go prepare for their own ice time, and I was left alone for the first time in a while. No Simon harping at me, no Carol poking and prodding me, no Jesus taking over my social life. I could just be me for a few minutes. 

   In fact, what I wanted to do most at that moment was call my mom. She didn't sound great the night before, and I wanted to see how she was doing. I dug out my phone from my bag and dialed her number.

   "Hello?"

   I held the phone to my ear, a tingle of nervousness zipping up my spine as heard the slur in her voice. 

   "Mom? It's Tallie."

   "Tallie? Oh, my girl."

   It was slow with unformed sounds, and I wanted to cry for the second time in twelve hours. She was flaring up and it wasn't good.

   "Were you able to watch last night, mom?"

   "...Oh, yessss I ...did. You were wonderfullll, my darling Tallie," she said in a breathy tone. "I'm not feeling my best...sweetie."

   I could feel my eyes fill up with those damned tears, and I took a deep breath to shake it off.

   "Mom, are you taking your meds? What can I do?"

   "I'm out of them, honey. Dad's went to the all-night pharmacy to get me some more."

   "I left you my credit card so that you could use it if the co-pay was high. You know what," I said, working to stay calm, "it's okay. Can you just have Dad call me later, and try to get some rest."

   "...Sure, baby."

   "I love you, mom, and I'll talk to you soon, okay?" I tried to make my voice as bright as possible, though I felt like running home and crawling into bed with her. 

   When we hung up, I slammed the phone on the table before resting my head on it, fighting the urge to bawl like a baby. What could I say? I wanted my mom right then. I wanted her to be healthy and not trapped in a wheelchair, fighting just to talk. She should be here with me, not thousands of miles away in pain.

    _Get it together, Tallie. She'd be heartbroken if she saw you like this._

   I didn't have time for a breakdown. I couldn't afford it, not when I had so much riding on my shoulders. Common sense told me that she'd take her meds, and the symptoms would abate like they always did. She just needed to hang in there for a couple weeks until I got back, and I'd take care of her. I always did.

   Once I finished my food, I went back to the exercise room, concentrating on my legs before going back upstairs to get a shower and clean clothes on. When I came out into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around myself, I nearly dropped it when I saw that Jesus was sitting on my bed buffing his nails. 

   "Hurry up," he said without looking up. "We're gonna miss the pre-game warmup, and I want Daryl to see me there cheering him on."

   "I really don't want to go," I whined as my unmentionables were thrown at my head. "I've had enough excitement to last me a few days."

   "Oh, I know what kind of excitement you've had," he smirked looking at me in the mirror as I hitched up my panties. "It's all everyone was talking about this morning."

   "Well, that's just great. Just fucking great."

   "Don't worry," he said peevishly, getting up and going to my closet to rifle through it, shaking his head sadly at my wardrobe. "Negan said that nothing happened between the two of you. He was very explicit about that." 

   Jesus pulled out a shirt before sighing tragically and stuffing it back in, hunting around for something more acceptable. 

   "He did?"

   I was both surprised and relieved, if not slightly offended. It's not like I didn't know that I wasn't his type, if he had one. Part of me just assumed that he'd sleep with anyone that had a pair of breasts. Huh. Who knew?

   While I mulled over that little bit of information, Jesus found an acceptable ensemble for me to wear, and he went in the bathroom to fuss with his hair while I got dressed, moving slowly as I tried to flush out any thoughts of Negan from my mind. So what if it was nice to wake up with someone's arms around me? I'd have plenty of time to start dating again after the Olympics. Hell, I could just hook up with someone here for a bit of fun. I'm an adult, and I wasn't tied down. Everyone else seemed to be doing it, and I was told to let my guard down. 

   "By the way, we're going to the Norway party house after the pairs program tonight," he said as I came in to dry my hair.

   "Oh, that's cool. You guys should have a blast."

   "By us, I meant you, too."

   "Nope. No way. Uh huh," I told him, turning on the hair dryer as he started to argue. Like with Maggie this morning, I could see his lips moving but I couldn't hear what he was saying, and he stomped his foot on the ground while I flipped my head over, drying the underside. 

   "You're never gonna get laid, Elsa, if you don't put yourself out there."

   "Don't call me that, asshole." I threw the brush at him, and he caught it one-handed, giving me the dirtiest look I'd ever seen cross his face. Bumping him out of the way with my hip, I started on my makeup as he began to curl my hair, his version of a peace offering.

   "I'm sorry," he said quietly, meeting my gaze. "But you have to start living, and what better time than now? This is the perfect place to dip your toe into the water. See what's out there and just have a bit of fun. There's no pressure and no consequences. You're so close, Nat. You're almost there and I know you need this. Please let me pimp you out? I know you've been thinking about it."

   He batted his lashes at me, such a ridiculous display that I started to laugh. He knew me too well. 

   "Fine," I grumbled as he started to dance behind me. "I'm not saying I'm going to slut it up, but I'll go to Viking central and _party_ it up, okay? Is that fair?"

   "Deal," he sang, tousling my hair the way he wanted it. "You know I push you because I love you, right?"

   "I know, and I pity the day that you have to find another pet project. Whatever will you do?"

   He looked at me like I was the densest person alive.

   "Plan your fucking wedding. Duh."

   One of the cool things about being an athlete was the unlimited access we got to other events. The little lanyard that we wore around our necks was like a VIP pass to everything, and thirty minutes later, Jesus and I were sitting in seats just behind the glass next to the penalty box. My dad would be in hog heaven if he was here, and I thumbed through the program as Jesus kept watch for the warm-up to commence. 

   There was a very loud, very giggly group of women behind us decked out in jerseys with Negan's name and number on them, and they were all holding signs with sparkly hearts and marriage proposals. Negan's Wives, they called themselves, a roaming pack of groupies that went to all of his games, and they'd managed to get themselves to Switzerland to see their obsession play.

   Jesus had made a catty remark under his breath, and I chuckled before tuning them out until they let out ear-piercing screeches and my head snapped up to see if someone had dropped dead or something. Nope, it was just their savior taking the ice, skating around without a helmet for the pre-game warmup. 

   I propped my foot up against the wall as Daryl came gliding by, giving Jesus a big smile, and my seatmate mouthed an 'I love you' before damn near swooning back in his seat. 

   "Isn't he just the dreamiest?" he sighed as I nodded enthusiastically. They really were adorable together. Resting my chin on my fist, I watched as the Italian team took their practice shots, the banging of vulcanized rubber smacking off of the glass already making my head pound. There was no shortage of hotties on the ice, and I saw one of the Italian players eyeball me as he skated by, made more obvious by Jesus poking me in the side for emphasis. 

   "Be cool, Papa Bear. _Damn_!"

   "Oh, fuck off!" he laughed. "Amore is in the air."

   My phone buzzed and I pulled it out to check to make sure it wasn't an emergency. I'd talked to my dad on the way to the arena, and he said that he'd gotten my mom her pills and an appointment with the doctor and not to worry. Now, he'd texted me to tell me that they were on the way there, and he'd let me know how everything went after. 

   As I was tucking the phone away, a loud bang sounded right in front of me, and I almost jumped out of my seat in alarm. Someone had hit a puck directly at us, and I clutched my heart as a certain someone came skating over, causing a near stampede behind me. A chorus of cries and cheers surrounded me as Negan swooped by, and he winked at me before skating off. I mean, I think it was directed at me. Every fangirl behind me thought that it was for them, and a brawl nearly started as Jesus put his hands over his ears dramatically. 

   He leaned over after it quieted down and he whispered into my ear, "What do you think would happen if I told the harpies that you spent the night in his room last night?"

   "I'm pretty sure they'd drag me out of here and use me in some sort of ritual sacrifice," I whispered back, and he started to laugh. 

   Once the game started, though, I forgot about everything else and lost myself in the spectacle of it all. The Americans were at the top of their game, and the Italians just couldn't keep up, not with Negan centering the top line. He was just too good, drawing defenders to him like flies and making passes that defied explanation. Between his legs, behind his back, it was like he'd gone back in time twenty years the way he was playing. It was hard to believe that he was mortal when he was on the ice, and I understood why so many people revered his talent. 

   When he got his second goal in the closing minutes of the third period, the arena erupted in cheers, including me, and I got caught up in the patriotic display of pride and camaraderie. The men's team had delivered an ass whooping, beating Italy 8-2, and Jesus was glowing with pride at Daryl's first goal scored in the Olympics.

   The final horn sounded, and the U.S. team raised their sticks to the crowd before filing off of the ice. Negan's Wives stuck around for about twenty minutes, chirping and cooing over his stellar performance, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek in impatience. Jesus insisted on waiting until the crowd cleared out so that we could go back to the locker room area with the rest of the families and friends. When I tried to beg off, saying that I wasn't a family member or friend, he looked hurt.

   "Daryl's not your friend?"

   "Of course he is," I quickly told him, taking his hand. "I just thought that you'd want to see him yourself. You know, spend some quality time with your honey."

   It didn't mollify him, and I pulled him up out of his seat and walked determinedly around the arena to the locker room entrance. A big, burly guard held out his hand to stop us, but the two of us fished out our lanyards, and he let us pass. 

   The hallway outside the locker room was filled with journalists and family, friends and hangers-on, and we weaved our way to just near the door, which was wide open. 

   The head coach, Rick Grimes, was finishing up a speech about teamwork, and how nothing stood in their way as long as they believed in themselves, and yada, yada, yada. A round of cheers rang out as the men slapped each other on the backs and celebrated the first win, and I was nearly pushed out of the way as the journalists started to stream in to interview the players. 

   Half of the crews went off in search of Negan, while the rest fanned out to get sound bytes from others, including one very shy Daryl Dixon. They managed to get a few words from him, and he stripped off his jersey and padded shirt. 

   "Bow chicka wow wow," I purred, as Jesus tugged on my hair. Daryl was looking mighty fine, all sweaty and muscled. "I. Am. Jealous."

   "You should be," Jesus snorted. "My man is gorgeous. Although..."

   "What?"

   He jerked his head to the right and I saw brown eyes watching me with a come-hither expression, causing me to swallow heavily. Daryl wasn't the only one looking mighty fine in that locker room. Negan was stripped down to a towel only that barely wrapped around his waist, and I saw him in a completely different light. 

   "That is trouble with a capital T, Nat. And you, honey, are in trouble."


	5. Bubbly and Bonding

   The bass was relentless, pounding and reverberating so much that I could feel it in my bones as I sipped on a spring water. I wasn't really a fan of European dance music, though I'd gone out for a few songs, giving it my best shot. I'd flirted with a guy or two, coyly accepting a drink and then setting it aside, unable to even stomach the thought of imbibing in alcohol, and I thought I'd been pretty damned sociable.

   But when I saw that Jesus was distracted, making out with Daryl on the dance floor, I knew I had my chance to escape, and I did just that. As soon as I got my coat, I was out the door and heading back to the dorm, walking through the blistering cold night, dodging as many snowflakes as I could on the ten-minute walk. 

   There were a few catcalls on my route, but I wasn't concerned with being attacked since security patrolled the area pretty regularly, and it pleased me just a little bit. Jesus had made me into quite a dish for the evening, and I ran my hands along the front of the red dress he'd acquired for me, though I couldn't wait to take off the black ankle boots and rest my sore feet. 

   My nose was on the verge of running by the time I made it into the building, and I quickly shucked the boots, carrying them in my hands as I walked into the common room, nearly turning around and heading back out. 

   Negan was in there, playing pool with two other guys, and he was bent over the table taking a shot. It was incredibly distracting, and I immediately thought about the last time I'd seen him, nearly naked save for a very strategically placed towel. 

   While Jesus had gone right into the locker room, I'd slinked back out of sight trying to collect myself. I mean, I knew the guy was good-looking. Everybody did. But I'd been so put off by his boorish behavior since I'd been introduced to him that it had fallen off by the wayside. It came roaring back to me, though, when I'd gotten a glimpse of him in all his glory. In fact, it was still roaring through my system, and I didn't want him to know it. For some reason, I felt like he'd gloat about it. 

   But if I wanted to get to my room, I had to pass through the lounge, and there was no way for me to reach the other side without him seeing me. I took a deep breath and went for it, banking on the fact that he was still trying to get a good shot, and I walked quickly behind his back, clutching my shoes. 

   "Well, hello there."

   I was almost to the door when I heard him chuckle behind me, and I reminded myself that he was Simon's friend, and therefore I couldn't be rude. Glancing back, I gave him a little wave without breaking my stride, and I scooted out the door. When I got to the elevator, I pressed the button, willing it to hurry the hell up, bouncing from foot to foot. 

   The bell dinged, and I pushed my way through the people getting off, pressing number four twice as I let out a sigh of relief. The doors were just about shut when an arm shot through them, forcing them back open, and I slumped against the back wall in defeat. 

   "Running off somewhere, sweetheart?"

   "I'm not running," I said defensively as he stepped inside with a grin. "I'm just going up to my room."

   "Well, you took off through the lounge without so much as a 'how do you do', and I'm a little hurt. I mean, I'd like to think that I took good care of you last night, and I don't even get a thank you."

   "Thank you," I told him woodenly, hoping that was the end of it. 

   It wasn't.

   "You know," he said, stepping in front of me as the elevator began to rise, "you make the cutest little noises when you sleep."

   "Really? I'm surprised you could hear it over your own snoring."

   He put his hand over his heart as if I'd wounded him, and he stuck out his bottom lip slightly. 

   "I'm hurt. No one's ever complained before."

   "Huh. I didn't think anyone ever stayed with you long enough to hear it."

   The pout turned into a triumphant grin and he put his hands on either side of my head, leaning into me.

   "So you've been thinking about it? Good to know."

   Damn it, I walked right into that one. 

   "Can't you ever have a normal conversation?" I moaned, ducking under his arm as soon as the doors opened. He followed behind me, and when I turned around he was advancing towards me like a panther. It almost sent a shiver down my spine, but I kept going, fumbling with the key to my door as I tried to balance my shoes and my purse. 

   "Normal is boring, don't you think?"

   He took the key with a flourish, unlocking it with ease, and he pushed the door open, flipping on the light. I went to the closet and dumped the boots on the floor, turning around to find him stretched out on my bed with his arms behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. 

   A lesser woman might have pounced on him then and there, but I was the Ice Queen, and I stalked over to my dresser, pulling out a pair of leggings and a Team USA shirt, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door firmly. My mind was racing as I quickly changed my clothes, trying to decipher what his angle was. 

   He was still in the same spot when I emerged, and I sat down warily on Maggie's bed, biting my lip. 

   "Thank you," I said, and this time I was sincere. "For making sure I didn't end up in a ditch somewhere."

   I thought he would smirk and make a smart comment, but he didn't, he just studied me for a while. 

   "That guy is a dick, and you shouldn't waste a fucking thought on him."

   "Yeah, well, I thought I loved him for a long time. It turns out, if I couldn't get him a medal or glory, I wasn't of much use to him."

   "Honey, real men don't treat women like that," he sniffed and I laughed. 

   "No offense, but you're not exactly a gentleman."

   "How the fuck do you figure that?" he asked, and I felt my eyebrows rise. 

   "Aren't you known as the 'Hockey Whore'? The 'Jackrabbit to the Puck Bunnies'? I'm not the only one with a nickname."

   "I don't force women to do anything they don't want to do," he said harshly, and I blinked in surprise at his irritation. "I don't promise them shit and I don't hurt them. They all know what they get with me, and all they give a shit about is fucking a star. None of them give a fuck about who I am as a person."

   I'd hit a nerve, and he sat up, swinging his legs to the floor. Maybe he was getting tired of being used as opposed to being seen as the user.

   "I didn't know you wanted them to," I murmured, and he quickly regained control of himself, forcing a smile.

   "That's not what I said," he told me, trying to play it off. "I just said that they have very specific reasons for sleeping with me, and I have my reasons for fucking them."

   "Sounds kind of lonely."

   "Sweetheart, I'm not the one that spends each night alone," he chuckled, rubbing his shoulder.

   "Alone and lonely are two different things," I defended myself, but he winced lightly, and I knew that he was done sharing with me. Still, I'd gleaned a little more insight to Simon's old friend, and I thought that maybe his life wasn't as glamorous and fun as the media portrayed it to be. "What's wrong?"

   "That Italian fucker hit me into the boards, and I jammed my shoulder a bit," he said, rotating it in a circle. 

   "You should go soak in the whirlpool. That might help."

   "Care to join me?"

   I was about to say no, but I had a big day tomorrow, and I shrugged, getting to my feet. "Sure."

   Negan seemed surprised, but he headed to the door, giving me a cockeyed look before opening it. "If I leave, are you going to show up? Or am I going to sit out there like a jackass by myself?"

   I almost made a comment about his harem, but I decided against it, waving him out. 

   "I'll be there."

   He grinned, and it was a goofy one, making me smile back unwittingly and he shut the door. I wasn't sure I liked the way it made me feel when he did it, and I shook my head when I was alone before pawing through my things to find my swimsuit. 

   Ten minutes later, I was down at the spa by myself, cursing internally at the thought that _he'd_ shafted _me_ , and I set my towel down on a chair, stripping off my robe. The water was steaming, and no one else was taking advantage of the amenity, probably because it was outside and the air was bitingly cold, though there was room enough for at least twenty people. Goosebumps immediately formed on my bare skin, and I stepped quickly into the warm water, letting out a sigh. Sometimes I have good ideas, and I mentally patted myself on the back.

   "Thanks for waiting."

   I adjusted my position, and I saw Negan strolling out of the door with an open robe and a pair of swim trunks, his abs clenching as he moved. Oh, maybe this wasn't such a great idea after all. I didn't think about the fact that I'd see him much like I did earlier, and I averted my eyes, moving my arms back and forth under the water. 

   He pulled two bottles of water out of the inside of his robe, setting them by the edge as he tossed it over mine, jumping straight into the big jacuzzi, splashing me along the way. 

   "Oh, fuck yeah," he moaned, sinking down up to his neck, and I squirmed at the reverent tone of his voice, immediately thinking about how sexual and sensual it sounded. Maybe I was the pervert, and I shook my head to clear it. "This is just what I needed."

   "The cold fish has some good ideas here and there," I joked, and he opened one eye to look at me. 

   "You're not a cold fish," he said quietly before a slow smile spread across his face. "You're more like lemonade. "

   "Excuse me?"

  "Sour, with just enough sweetness to make it delicious. It's my favorite drink, actually. Very refreshing."

   I let that comment slide, choosing to put my head back and shut my eyes, and I let the bubbles lull me into a relaxed state until I felt his leg brush mine. Ignoring it, I moved my foot, but he did it again, and I opened my eyes to see him watching me.

   "Can I help you?" I asked calmly, and he pointed to his shoulder. 

   "Will you massage it? Please?"

   I took a deep breath as he positioned himself in front of me, lowering himself further down into the water, and after sitting up, I gently ran my hands over the back of his shoulder, testing the area. The last thing I needed was to screw up the arm of Captain America, but he let out an impatient sound, and I began to work the deltoid, using my thumb to loosen up the area. 

   Simon had done this for me a hundred times before, and I used practiced motions to massage his lower neck as well, feeling a tingle throughout my body when he rested his hands on my knees under the water, effectively slipping between my legs to get closer. As I worked, I studied the hair at the base of his neck, admiring how it curled slightly from the humidity and the way the necklace that he wore sat along the curve of muscle. 

   I hadn't been this up close and personal with a man in a long time, and I could feel myself drawing closer to the back of his body. That, or he was leaning back into me, and it threw me for a loop, so much so that I pushed him away after ten minutes, clapping my hands together. 

   "All better?" 

   He reached out behind himself, grabbing a hold of my upper body, twisting around and pulling me towards him in the center of the water. I thought that he was going to try to kiss me, but he flipped me up and shoved me under the surface as I flailed around wildly. 

   I came up coughing and choking, my hair sticking to my face as I cried out, covering my face. "I almost drowned when I was a kid," I croaked out, moving over to the edge and leaning over it, taking one of the water bottles with shaking hands. I slowly twisted the top off as I felt him press his hand gently between my shoulder blades.

   "Oh, fuck, honey, I am so sorry. I didn't know. I was just playin' around."

   Lifting the bottle to my lips, I turned around carefully...and squirted it dead in his face, squeezing it so hard that the ice cold water went straight up his nose and into his eyes, making him yelp in a high-pitched voice as he scrambled away from me.

   "Ha, ha, sucker!" I screeched, trying to pour the rest over his head, when he finally grabbed my wrist to get the bottle, tossing it roughly. 

   "Are you fucking kidding me? Did you just lie about almost drowning?"

   "Fucking A, I did," I extracted my arm, backing up with a warning look. "You dunked me in human soup. I have no idea whose asses have been marinating in this water."

   He looked at me like I was crazy before busting out laughing, gripping his sides as I watched for any signs that he was going to submerge me again, and he shook his head.

   "Truce?"

   "Truce," I agreed, keeping a healthy distance. "So, what's that scar from?" I pointed to his arm, where there was a long, clean slice that ran from the top of his bicep to inside his elbow.

   "Skate blade," he said, looking at it fondly. The two of us started to compare battle wounds from skates and falls, with me proudly pointing out my extra sharp elbow, courtesy of Spencer dropping me during a particularly ambitious lift. He then told me about a drunken bet he'd made with a goalie that involved him sliding bare-assed across the goal line and leaving him with a permanent spot of road rash on one cheek. 

   I was near tears when the door opened suddenly and three women came out wearing the bikini's, wrapped up in towels. Bikinis in Geneva? 

   "Do you mind if we join you?" one of them asked, chucking her towel and stepping in as the other two started to do the same. I knew why they were here, and I stood up, making my way past Negan, whispering as I went.

   "I won't cockblock you two nights in a row," I told him, sidestepping the other women with a smile that felt hollow. I toweled off as they began to surround him, praising him for his performance in the game, and as soon as I got my robe on, I headed for the door. Funny, but I could see him in the reflection of the glass walls, watching me the entire way instead of looking at the women who were competing for his attention. 

   Maggie was still out celebrating her and Glenn's stellar job with their short program, ending up four full points ahead of everyone else, including Spencer and Rosita. I'd taken a keen enjoyment of that, especially when Spencer threw one of his typical tantrums in the locker room, accusing the judges of being biased. Rosita just rolled her eyes, and I began to wonder what I ever saw in him, and what she currently did. 

   By the time she got home, I was already showered and sound asleep, though it took me a while to get there, and not because my nerves were firing up with regards to my program the next day. I'd tossed and turned for a while, comparing myself with the three girls that were currently trying to earn Negan's favor. I wasn't ugly, not by any means, and I don't mean that I thought I was a supermodel or anything. I knew I was above average, I just wasn't stunning, and it was starting to feel like everyone around me was. Tall, long-legged, shiny hair and glossy lips. 

   I loved my body. It was powerful. Healthy. Strong. Maybe I just wanted someone to appreciate it, too. 

  Eventually, I drifted off, sleeping soundly until seven in the morning when I sat up like a bolt of lightning, my adrenaline kicking in. I'd overslept, the first time in years. 

   The rest of the morning I felt off-kilter. Practice was rocky, with me missing a few jumps and working to keep my spins perfect, and Simon actually snapped at me, asking me if I even wanted to win. The afternoon was quiet, and I found myself looking around for Negan at the dorm, but he was nowhere around. None of the guys were, and I assumed that they were at practice or something, picking at my food until I saw one of the women from the night before. She was talking to another girl, laughing and having a good time, and I lost my appetite, retreating to my room until it was time to go to the arena. 

   I shut everyone out, going over my program in my head, willing myself to do it justice. It was a departure for me, set to a modern tango, laced with dance beats and percussion, and I'd chosen it in an effort to bring some much-needed personality to the ice. Simon and I had argued off an on about me doing such an ambitious departure from my normal routines, but I'd insisted that the situation demanded it. This was all or nothing for me, and I was going to push myself to new heights.

   Carol had designed a costume that was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying to me. It was black, with a side cut-out to emphasize my waist and a skirt that would flare out and emphasize when I'd swing my hips. My hair in a bun with fresh flowers and ruby-red lips and dramatic eye makeup were all on tap, and I sat in a stupor as she got me ready, avoiding looking in the mirror until she was done. 

   "Whoa."

   I opened my eyes to see Simon gogging at me in the mirror, and he mockingly rubbed his eyes as I evaluated myself. I looked...sexy. A word I'd loathe using to describe myself, but Carol was a miracle worker, and a saucy temptress now sat where the Ice Queen used to. 

   "Does it look okay?" I asked Simon nervously, flittering over to him after kissing Carol on the cheek, making her curse when she had to fix my lips, sealing in the color. 

   "You look amazing, Nat," he gave me a fatherly grin, leaning in to hug me before Carol broke us apart, warning us that if either of us did anything to ruin her masterpiece, she'd kill us.

   So he took my hand and led me from the makeup room back towards the locker room, shielding me as best he could from the cameras who were trying to get an interview with anyone they could. He thought that I was far too nervous, and rushed me into my room where Jesus and Maggie were waiting for me. 

   They oohed and aahed over my look before someone else knocked at the door. While Simon went to answer it, I practiced a few moves, taking deep breaths. I was really nervous, hoping that I'd be able to machine it up when I stepped on the ice. It became entirely less likely when Simon carried over a huge bouquet of roses. Yellow roses that were tinged with pink on the tips, a white card stuck between the blossoms, and I snatched it before Jesus could, taking it into the bathroom and slamming the door. 

   I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, pleased that my mom and dad sent me such a sweet gift, but it wasn't from them.   


  _Be sweet. Be sour. BE YOU._

_Fuck everyone else._

_N_  


   My heart went from pounding to a grinding stop as I lifted the card to my nose, smelling cologne and something spicy. I wanted to stay in there as long as I could, just appreciating the gesture, but Jesus threatened to beat my ass if I didn't come out, and I let him look at the card before he started to dance around. Simon had taken off to make the last minute preparations, and I began to lace up my skates, having to redo them twice because my hands were shaking so much. It was so unlike me that I had to put my head between my knees and breathe to center myself again.

   When they called my name, I glided onto the ice for the first time in my adult life very nervous and with a huge smile that went all of the way up to my eyes. 


	6. S'il Vous Plaît

 

  
   "Congratulations to both of you on your amazing performances tonight!"

   Darby Smith was effusive and bubbly in her praise, flashing a gleaming smile at Beth and me before turning to the camera. 

   "Beth Greene and Natalie Baker both just left everything on the ice, earning the highest marks of the Olympics so far, and Natalie was the clear winner of the night."

   I was still in shock at the acclaim I'd received, having earned near perfect scores for the first time in my life, including the creative content, and I'd finished in first place, even above Beth. My mind, so scattered when I'd started my program, had left me unable to overthink my moves, and I'd had to feel my way through the music, letting it transform my entire routine as the scent of roses and cologne lingered around me. 

   Beth reached for my hand as Darby questioned her for a few minutes, and I let my mind wander to Negan while I sat there. The flowers that he'd sent me before the competition were completely unexpected, and apparently just what I needed to get me off my game in a good way. Instead of moving through my routine like I was checking points off of a list, I lost myself in the beats, my body reacting to the sensual grooves of the tango, and when the music ended, there was a heartbeat of silence before the audience erupted, stunning me back to myself. I'd covered my face, overwhelmed with emotion, and I'd skated off of the ice into Simon's arms, tearing up as he lifted me off of my skates.

   "And now let's talk to Natalie," Darby chirped, and I blinked, squeezing Beth's hand as I smiled shyly. "Natalie, you've been characterized as focused and driven, always sharp in your performances, but that there was sometimes a certain spark that was missing. But tonight, you were the total package. That routine is being praised as 'sensual' and 'groundbreaking'. How do you explain the change?"

   "I'm not sure," I hedged, shifting in my seat. "Obviously, I'm a very analytical skater, always judging what I need to do in my head as I'm going through my program, but tonight I was able to kind of set that aside and just let the music take over, and let my body do what it's trained to do. I've worked so hard on my routines, and I know them inside and out, and tonight it just worked."

   "It certainly did," Darcy laughed, playing up to the camera. "With the way the U.S. skaters performed tonight, you've set your team up so well that it would take a disaster of epic proportions to knock you out of gold medal contention. How does it feel to know that you're almost assured to be standing up on a podium in two days?"

   "I'm not sure that it even feels real," Beth answered dreamily as I put my arm around her. "Our team has worked so hard, put their blood, sweat, and tears into this entire journey, and to see my friends and family rewarded, it..." 

   She teared up, wiping her eyes, and I gave her a tender smile. She was so young, so hopeful, and it was starting to rub off on me. 

   "No matter what," I said, "win or lose, this entire experience has been life-changing for all of us, and we're going to be bonded for life."

   "I guess my final question would be, do you think you can carry this momentum into the individual performances next week? Will there be an American gold medalist in skating for the first time in almost twenty years?"

   "I think Beth has the best chance of standing up there representing our country," I replied, and I was being honest. "She's just got the total package, and other than her sister and her father, no one is rooting harder for her than me."

   Beth threw her arms around me, hugging me fiercely. 

   "That may be true," Darcy acknowledged, "but with the way you skated tonight, nothing is written in stone. I'm not sure what changes you've made in your life, Natalie, but it's working for you. Congratulations, you two. Up next, we'll be sending you out to men's curling."

   She signed off, praising us again before letting us take our leave. Simon and Hershel were waiting for us off-camera, and they looked thrilled. After hugging the Greene's, I was led out of the makeshift studio, and Simon swept me up in his arms, twirling me around with a belly laugh. 

   "I knew you had it in you, Tallie," he cheered, and I started to get dizzy. "That's the you that I know off the ice. You've had a goddamned breakthrough. How the fuck did you do it?"

   "I don't know," I lied, feeling incredibly self-conscious all of a sudden.

   "Well, you'd better figure it out, because if you continue like this, you're getting your own medal next week. Now, let's go. Carol's waiting in the car."

   After the conclusion of the women's program, Simon told me that he, Carol and I were going out to dinner. I'd tried to refuse, saying that I was tired and in need of a good night's sleep. But he'd said it was non-negotiable, that there were already reservations at the best French restaurant in the city and to suck it up. So before the interview, Carol had gotten me something to wear and touched up my makeup, making it a little more subdued, though she left my hair up, giving me a tender smile. 

   Now I was sandwiched between the two of them in a luxury sedan, on our way out of the Olympic village and speeding towards Lake Geneva in the moonlight. Simon and Carol chatted quietly around my head as I looked out the window, not really thinking anything. I just watched the lights as they blazed by, wondering what all of the people outside the village were doing. Wondering how my mother was. I'd only had a few seconds to talk to her afterward, and she sounded a little better. She was, of course, thrilled with my skate, and she told me that she'd recorded it so that I could watch it when I got home. 

   My dad had chimed in, asking if my outfit had to be so revealing, and I'd laughed heartily. To him, I was still that four-year-old little girl, and I think he wanted me to still wear sparkly, cute outfits and skate to something a little less risque. 

   Finally, I thought about Negan, wondering what prompted him to send me the flowers, and if he knew how much it affected me. I'd only known him for a few days, but he was unlike any other person in my life. Perhaps that was a good thing. He was cocky, foul-mouthed and unconcerned with propriety. He also stood up for me with Spencer, made sure no one could take advantage of me in my drunken state, and compared me to lemonade. I just couldn't get a handle on him, and I had a handle on everything.

   The surface of the lake was luminescent, reflecting the lights of Geneva like a mirror, with the Swiss Alps framing the back like a dark watchman, lording over the beauty. 

   We pulled up to an upscale hotel, and a doorman helped Carol and I out, showing us into the lobby as I wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself. It was quiet inside, voluminous, with marble floors and sleek furniture that was sure to remind anyone that entered that they were, in fact, in Europe. 

   Simon led us to an elevator, and we were whisked to the top floor, stepping out into a gorgeous restaurant. Floor-to-ceiling windows covered three-fourths of the room, treating each patron to stunning views of the lake and the mountain that sat just beyond them. 

   A well-dressed young woman greeted us in French, and Simon spoke back to her while I took in the scenery. I should've paid attention to what he said, because when I tore my eyes away from the night view of the lake, I was led to a table where Negan was standing there expectantly, waiting for us. 

   My mouth dropped open for about a hundred different reasons, and one of them was that he was dressed up in a suit with an almost clean-shaven face and slicked back hair. The man was stunning when he was cleaned up like that, and I came to a complete stop just feet from the table, creating a backlog behind me. Simon ended up poking me to get me moving, and I felt my face get warm as Negan gave me a hint of a smile, raising his eyebrows. 

   Another reason was that the table was only set for two, placing us right next to the window and that amazing view. I gathered my bearings as much as I could, and Simon took the liberty of pulling out my seat after I handed the girl my coat. Negan refused to sit until I did, and I did so gingerly as if any move I made was going to send the restaurant tumbling down into the water below.

   I don't know if he had any idea, but I caught the stern warning look that Simon gave to Negan before continuing on to another table with Carol, taking her hand after they were past us. It was something I'd never seen him do, and all of a sudden I realized I didn't know much about what Simon did when I wasn't with him. Apparently, Carol was more important to him than I thought.

   Negan cleared his throat to get my attention, and I looked at him warily, which wasn't what he expected, because he looked confused.

   "What's wrong?"

   "Why are you here? Why am _I_ here? Did you plan this with Simon?" I questioned him as his face went blank. "Was this whole thing some sort of plot with him to...?"

   "To what?" he snapped, leaning towards me with a low voice. "Get you a gold medal?"

   "Bonsoir," a young waiter said, stepping up to the table. Negan spoke with him in flawless French, asking him to give us a few minutes, and once the man retreated, he took a deep breath as I bit my lip. 

   "I know I come across like an asshole, but I'm not _that_ much of an asshole," he said a little more calmly as I searched his eyes. "I'm here because I wanted to spend time with you and get to know you better. I like you."

   "Why? You've insulted me and picked at me since the moment we met."

   "Because you're the first person in a long time that's treated me like a regular person," he said, keeping his eyes on mine. "I admit that I was, dismissive, for lack of a better word, when I saw you that day with Simon because I was thrown off by your complete indifference towards me. You weren't swooning over me or looking to get something from me, and it wasn't something that I was used to."

   "Since I've been here," he continued, "you're the only woman that hasn't tried to get me to sleep with her, or use me for press. I've only known you for a couple days, however, I feel more like myself around you. But hell, I'm just this moment realizing that I'm not even sure that you like me."

   My face relaxed, just a bit, and I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table and my chin in my hands. If my father was here, he would've smacked me by now for my bad manners. 

   "Since I met you a few days ago, I've found you to be obnoxious, insulting, and incredibly rude."

   His face hardened into something that seemed like defensiveness, but I kept speaking.

   "I've also found you to be very sweet, protective, funny, and intelligent. In fact, I don't think I've ever come across a person that's so contradictive in my life, and it's thrown me for a bit of a loop. Last night in the hot tub, I think that I got to see the real you, and I like it very much. But I'm not used to this."

   "To what?"

   " _This_ ," I said, waving my hand in the air. "I don't date, I don't get to spend time with people outside of my small group and I'm nervous. You and I lead very different lives, and I don't know...I don't know how to do this."

   "Do you _want_ to?" he asked after a moment, searching my eyes, and I leaned forward just a bit more.

   "Yes."

   It was said quietly, nervously, and he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he waved for the waiter to return. I sat back, resting my hands in my lap, and after asking me if I had any objections, he took the liberty of ordering for the both of us, including a decadent bottle of wine, that seemed to go down very easily.

   We made small talk, and I thanked him for the flowers, blushing lightly. 

   "I was in the arena for your performance," he told me, one side of his mouth lifting up as he used the tips of his fingers to rub his chin. "It was stunning."

   I felt absurdly pleased with the compliment, and I smiled like a simpleton, resorting to sipping my wine to stop it. But I found myself less nervous as the conversation continued, and he asked me about my parents, listening intently as I described my life growing up, going from school to practice and traveling whenever possible to compete. When I talked about my mom's diagnosis and how it impacted my life and pushed me to do the best that I could so that I could take care of her, I noticed that the light in his eyes seemed to dim, and I asked him if he wanted to change the subject. 

   "No," he insisted, shaking his head. "It's just bringing back a lot of memories of my wife, Lucille."

   "I never knew you were married," I gasped, setting down my fork. 

   "No one does."

   Negan and Lucille were high school sweethearts, meeting and dating during their freshman year. Their relationship continued through school, even through Negan's transfer to an academy with a nationally recognized hockey program, and when they both graduated, they eloped in a secret ceremony before he was selected first overall in the NHL Draft. 

   As he spoke, he became lost in memories of the past, and I put my hand over his, stroking it lightly with my thumb, struck by the fact that he trusted me enough to tell me something that was clearly so personal.

   "I was a shithead that entire first year while I was gone, sleeping with any girl that crossed my path and letting my ego grow to unmanageable proportions as the press and the fans fawned all over me," he said, looking down at our hands together. "We didn't make the playoffs, but by the time the season ended in April and I'd come home for good, I knew something was wrong. She looked horrible, just absolutely skeletal, and it turned out that she'd been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer. While I was out living a life of fucking anything that walked, avoiding her when I was in town, she was fighting to live, never telling me because she knew what I was doing behind her back. She was dead by June, and I, uh, I never went back to our house."

   "Oh, God, Negan, I'm so sorry," I whispered, feeling my eyes start to prick with tears. "I had no idea."

   "No one outside our small town knew, and I've never talked about it. The media knows to never discuss it or bring it up if they want access to me, so..."

   So much about him became understandable right then. Why he only pursued superficial relationships, based on sex and pretty much nothing else. It struck me that he was much lonelier than I ever was, and I saw him not as a cocky prick right then, but as a man so scarred by the mistakes of his past that he built walls around himself much higher than I ever had.

   The waiter came back to clear our plates, and I removed my hand, sitting back again while he fussed over us, watching Negan as he sucked down the rest of his glass of wine. Music, which had been playing in the background, segued into a slow number, and he rose from his seat, coming around and holding out his hand, leading us out onto a small dancefloor. 

   Carol and Simon were already out there, completely wrapped up in their own world, and I let Negan wrap his arm around my waist, guiding us around in a slow circle. I caught a whiff of that cologne that had been on the card that came with the flowers, and I leaned into his embrace, resting my head on his chest. 

   The music, the landscape outside, the company. It was the most romantic moment of my life, and I felt both at peace and unsettled all at one time with his arms around me and his cheek resting on mine. 

   "Negan?"

   "Hmmm?"

   I lifted my head, leaning back slightly so that I could look into his eyes. 

   "I have no idea what's going to happen with us, but you've worked really hard to pull me in, so don't push me away, okay?"

   He stiffened slightly before closing his eyes and touching his forehead to mine, tightening his hold on my lower back as we continued to move in a slow circle.

   "Don't _let_ me push you away, Natalie."

   A shiver ran down my spine, and I pressed my forehead a little tighter against his. We stayed out there for two more songs until the waiter came over to tell us that the restaurant was going to be closing in twenty minutes, asking us if we needed anything else. 

   Negan settled the bill, and I thanked him again for dinner, letting him hold my arm as we descended back down to reality, leaving before Carol and Simon. There was another sedan waiting to take us back to the village, and I smiled at the driver as he opened the door for me, helping me into the backseat as Negan came around the other side to join me. 

   We pulled away from the hotel, and I stared out at the lake one last time, drinking in the beauty of the lights dancing across the mirrored surface until I felt two rough fingers softly touch my cheek. The entire time, my heart was thrumming in my chest, a popping, sizzling sensation on my skin as I felt the electric air between the two of us, so close together in the darkness of the backseat.

   What I thought was going to be a hot, sexual kiss was, in reality, a slow, sweet encounter, his lips brushing mine as he tilted his head to the side. I pressed forward, opening my lips slightly, and our breath mingled together, a sweet, heady wine smell drifting between us. When his lips closed around my bottom one, I brought my hand up to his cheek, caressing it as his hand slipped under my coat and around my back, pulling me against his chest. 

   That was how we spent the rest of the ride back, making out like teenagers, going to first base for the first time together, and it was the best experience of my life, so much so that when the car came to a complete stop and he broke the kiss, I actually whimpered, making him laugh unsteadily. 

   The driver got out, and we let go of each other, fixing ourselves before the door opened, flooding the car with cold air. The driver again assisted me, giving me a conspiratorial smile before Negan tipped him, and hand in hand, we walked back towards the dorms.


	7. How Now Salchow

 

  
   "Honey, if you can't behave yourself, we're not going to be able to spend the night together."

   Negan's voice rumbled through the darkness as he removed my hand from his ass, setting it back on his hip, and I pulled it out of his grasp, sitting up with a huff. Throwing the covers off of my legs, I fumbled around looking for my pants, and the light flipped on, blinding me momentarily.

   The past week had been unforgettable, one of those perfect existences that populated cheesy, romantic movies that I never had time to see. Our team won the gold medal, and I'd stood on the podium with my friends at my side and Negan in the crowd, watching with a huge smile. Everything after had been a blur, from the interviews to the furious practice sessions to prepare for the singles competition. I don't think the reality had sunk in at all, the fact that I was a gold medalist, and I pushed myself to the limits preparing for what followed.

   But in the downtime, it was heavenly. Negan and I spent all of our time together when he wasn't practicing and playing his own games, and I was there to cheer him on with Jesus, though we kept a low profile since someone had taken to Twitter to start gossip that he and I had become an 'item'. It had brought some unwanted attention to me, and Negan's Wives were hell bent on blood.

   Websites and posts had popped up almost overnight, researching everything about me, cataloging pictures of me and really just ripping me to shreds. Negan had both laughed it off and called his manager to try to do something about it, but he assured me that it would all be okay. At this point I was still somewhat insulated, but who knew how much I'd be hounded after all of this was over and I had to go back to reality.

   To distract me, he took me to as many events as our schedules would allow, always keeping a respectable distance between us so that no money shots could be taken by any of his more aggressive fans, but I enjoyed myself all the same. It was nice to do something other than spend all of my time skating or thinking about skating.

   At night, however, we spent our time in his room. Not having sex.

   I was shocked to my core when he'd told me that he hadn't slept with anyone since he'd arrived, despite what I'd seen on that night that he'd clashed with Spencer. Though he'd had Autumn Pascale wrapped around him on the pool table, he'd had no intention of screwing her.

   Hockey players are a very superstitious group, and since he'd won every match so far while being celibate, we weren't going to be having any sex while they were winning. It hadn't stopped him from strutting around in front of me over the last several days, taunting me and getting me so goddamned hot and bothered that I'd resorted to molesting him when I thought he was asleep.

   We'd had some heavy makeout sessions, and Negan would lay his long, muscular body on top of mine, but every time I thought that we were finally going to go all of the way, he'd put the brakes on, and I was starting to get a complex. I understood his stupid, weird superstition, but it was wearing on me, and on my body.

   "Sweetheart, you know I have a game tomorrow, and if we win, we're playing Canada for the gold," he said, sitting up as I pulled my pants on. "I'm playing the best I ever have, and you have your short program tomorrow. Come back into bed and let's get some rest."

   "I thought you were a fucking sex fiend, and I'm hitting my limit here," I snapped, shoving my feet into my sneakers, putting my hair into a ponytail. I forgot how much dating another athlete absolutely sucked sometimes, and I started for the door, but Negan grabbed me by the waist, pulling me back onto the bed and climbing on top of me. Oh yeah, this was much better, knowing that it wasn't going to go anywhere, and I tried to squirm out from under him.

   "Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is for me to lay here and not do everything that I want to do to you? You have no idea the filthy, disgusting thoughts that go through my mind," he growled, pinning my arms above my head, and I gave up, wrapping my legs around his waist.

   "Then what are you waiting for?" I hissed, pushing my hips into his as he put more of his weight on me to keep me still.

   "Gold," he groaned, trying to put some distance between our pelvises. "The second I have my hands on that gold medal, I'm carrying your ass up here and fucking you so long and so hard that you won't be able to walk right for a week. So please," he kissed me softly, and I loosened my legs, "please just hang in there for another few days."  
   

   "Fine," I muttered, and he let go of my wrists, kissing me softly again. "But I'm still leaving."

   "Why?"

   He sounded annoyed and petulant, but he rolled off of me, letting me get up.

   "Because I can't stay with you until then. I'm only going to get more frustrated."

   The proud smirk on his face only pissed me off more, and I walked out without saying goodnight, heading back to my room. I had the unfortunate luck to walk in on Maggie and Glenn having sex, and I freaked out, slamming the door as they scrambled to cover themselves. Well, my room was out, and I went to the one other person that was probably as sexually frustrated as I was, walking in unannounced.

   Jesus was sitting on his bed, drumming his thighs as he sung off-key along with whatever song was playing through his headphones. I threw myself down on the extra bed since his roommate had cleared out and gone home the day before. My new roommate was sticking around until the end of the games, even though his nifty new individual gold medal sat next to his team one. He was done competing but was staying to cheer Daryl on who had the same 'no sex' embargo in place.

   "Shut down again, huh?" he asked, tossing the headphones onto the bed as he flopped on his side to face me.

   "How did I go from frigid ice queen to wanton slut that can't get America's premier manwhore to sleep with me?" I whined, and he laughed loudly before rolling onto his back.

   "It sucks, right?" he said, stretching his legs as I watched unhappily. "Daryl does this to me all goddamned year when he gets on a points streak. Hockey players are the worst."

   "Is there any way to get them to break?"

   "Nope," he said with a sigh. "Believe me, I've tried everything. They're the most stubborn, hardheaded people alive. The wear the same jockstrap until it disintegrates, sit in the same spot on every road trip, eat the same meal. Ugh. But how's everything going otherwise? Daryl said he's never seen Negan like this any time he's been around him. He's...happy."

   Despite my obvious irritation, that news made me smile, and Jesus made moon eyes at me as I curled up into a ball.

   "He's not anything like you'd think he is. I mean, yeah, he's crass and obnoxious, but he's also soulful and tender when you don't expect it."

   "Like how?"

   "Well," I smirked, " since none of our time so far has been spent having sex, we've had lots of time for other things, and he loves to read. I'll lay on his chest and just listen to him recite classic literature in that deep, smoky voice of his. Oh, and my mom called me and said he sent a huge care package to Murphy. Bones, toys, the whole thing."

   "Oh shit," Jesus drawled, "if he gets Murphy's approval, you are so done for."

   "He'll kiss my hand out of nowhere, just for no reason, and he'll give me this wink when we're in public. This secretive little thing that...I don't know."

   Jesus wiggled his hips back and forth, using a singsong voice.

   "You are such the smitten little kitten. I love it!"

  "It's only been a week," I said, trying to temper his enthusiasm and my own, but he shook his head.

   "Daryl and I knew each other for two weeks before we started living together, and look at us now, a year later. Still in love and still crazy about each other. It may be fast, but when it's right, it doesn't matter."

   "Oh, let me just get through this week before you start planning my wedding," I dismissed him, and he clucked at me before turning out the light. It took me a while to fall asleep, listening to Jesus toss and turn as well, and when I finally succumbed to my exhaustion, I slept like a rock, only opening my eyes when Jesus turned on his hair dryer.

   Bidding him a quick goodbye, I went back to my room, where thankfully Maggie and Glenn were already gone, saving us from an awkward encounter.

   I didn't see Negan at breakfast, and I ate with Beth, who seemed much more nervous than I'd ever seen her. I did my best to distract her before Hershel came to collect her, and I went to the gym to work off my own anxious energy.

   Forty-five minutes into my run on the treadmill, Negan came in dressed to go, and he stood in front of me as I slowed to a walk, looking me up and down hungrily. I gave him a flirty smile before stepping off of the machine, wiping my face and chest down as he handed me some water.

   "I'm heading out, but I'll see you after," he said, bending down to give me a quick kiss. "We should be done before you go on."

   "Good luck."

   "Luck has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. It's all about this," he told me, pointing to his head and his heart. He kissed my hand again before walking out, and I watched him go, staring at the door long after he left.

   It sucked that we'd both be on the ice at about the same time, and it struck me how quickly I'd fallen into looking for his support. I don't know why it made me feel stronger and more assured, but something about him believing in me gave me the confidence to be different out there, knowing that he saw something in me that I never could.

   I showered, pacing around my small room as I went over my moves again, a minor trembling taking over my arms and legs as I tried to calm myself through deep breathing. Simon eventually pounded on the door, wondering what was taking me so long, and I let him drag me from the dorm, steering me towards the arena. We could've driven, but the walk was his idea, hoping that he would help expend some of my excess energy.

   Every female skater in the competition was in the back room, preparing, exercising and dancing around, some more composed than others. One of the Russian skaters was perched in the corner, apparently doing yoga, and Beth was in front of the mirror, working on her arm movements. She was already dressed in her outfit, and she gave me a sweet smile as I passed through to get ready.

   While I played my song on my headphones, she primped and plucked at me, going for ethereal and classic since I'd decided at the last minute to go with Mozart. The piece was upbeat and lent itself well to my jumps, perfect for the short program. I still hadn't decided on my long program, waffling between a few options, depending on how tonight went, and Carol yanked the buds out, forcing me to open my eyes.

   My eyes looked bigger than they normally did, and whatever she used to play them up did wonders. She'd done my hair in an elegant chignon, with a few gold combs to accent, helping me into my outfit.

   Cream colored, made to resemble an off the shoulder Victorian dress, the bodice embroidered with gold accents, a bustled skirt, and cream colored lace-up back.

   "Oh, Nat," Carol said, wiping at her eyes. "You look gorgeous."

   "Because of you. This is all you, Carol. I can't thank you enough for what you do for me," I said, taking a deep breath. Embarrassed by my fawning over her, she pushed me out of the room, and I took the opportunity to make a quick FaceTime call to my mom and dad. I had to cut it short after just a few minutes because I could feel myself starting to tear up, and they made me promise to call afterward. Their house was filled with people, holding a watch party. That only made me feel more nervous, and I went back to the practice room to relieve some of my tension.

   Simon watched me quietly as I spun around, waiting for my turn. I was a part of the second group, which featured all of the big guns. Canada, Russia and the U.S. were all competing for the big prize, and I caught Autumn giving me an icy look before resuming her own run-through. I knew it was an intimidation tactic, but I had nothing to lose. Though there were certain expectations on me now, they didn't compare to hers or even Beth's. I was still the dark horse, the spoiler.

   "They're winning right now," Simon told me, showing me the hockey score on his phone, and I grinned at him when I saw who'd scored the first and only goal after two periods. He didn't seem as happy, and I felt the smile fade from my face.

   "What's wrong?"

   He and I hadn't talked about the fact that I was seeing his old friend, and I began to get a buzzing feeling in the pit of my stomach. Didn't he approve?

   "Nothing," he insisted, pulling me off to the side. "I just hope that you keep your head where Negan's concerned, and proceed with caution."

   "Simon, is there something I need to know?"

   "No," he said quickly, chucking me under the chin. "He's my oldest friend, and I know that he's a great guy, but he's mercurial and driven, and I don't want to see you get hurt. Any fool can see that he's really into you, but he's got issues."

   "If you're talking about Lucille, I already know."

   He blinked in surprise, quickly recovering.

   "I'm glad that he told you, Nat. But you don't go through something like that without it leaving a few scars on you. He hasn't had a serious relationship since. That's a long time."

   "I'm a big girl, Simon."

   "You are, but you've had your own heartbreak," he reminded me as Spencer's stupid, smug face flashed through my mind. "I don't want to see you finally open up your heart again, just to get burned, because then I'd have to put a beatdown on my best friend."

   I hugged him quickly before stepping back.

   "Thank you for worrying about me, but I finally see what I've been missing. I've been hiding for so long that I've lost out on life. No matter what happens with him and me, things are going to be different going forward. I'm going to start _living_. I'm just now figuring out that I deserve it. I need it. I have to have something more than skating."

   He left me to my thoughts, backing out of the room, and I waited for my turn. My turn. This time it wasn't just for my country. It was for me, and I shut everything out until my name was called.

   When I removed my blade covers, I handed them to Simon, letting him murmur a few platitudes and some last minute advice before taking my spot on the ice. Taking my spot in history.

   You could hear a pin drop when the music started, and I began my routine, pouring my heart and soul into the music. My first jump was right out of the gate, a triple/double combo and I nailed it, causing the audience to cheer wildly. It spurred me on, the support, and I worked my way into the second jump, landing it solidly, but not brilliantly, having to shake it off as I began to skate backwards, working my way through the compulsory elements, spiraling across the surface and doing another combo jump.

   Crossing back and forth, I pushed my way through the rest of the routine, and when I finished with my spins, my hands went up into the air, my eyes closing as I took a moment to just breathe. I'd done it. My first short program for the individual event, and I didn't fall.

   The crowd cheered loudly, and I bowed to each side of the ice before skating back towards Simon, who looked thrilled. At this point, I wasn't concerned about my scores, I just basked in the appreciation of the crowd for the first time since I was a kid, watching the kids as they skated to collected the tributes that had been thrown down for me.

   "Couldn't have gone better," Simon said as I followed him to the scoring area, sitting down and panting. Time seemed to drag as I waited to see what place I'd be sitting in, and when the scores flashed above me, I smiled gratefully. I was in second place behind Donna, with Autumn, Beth, and the Russians still to come. With any luck, I'd be in the top four going into the free skate, and I gathered up my things, waving to a few people as I headed back into the locker room area.

   "What's going on with the game? Is it over?" I asked, collapsing on the bench in the changing room, unlacing my skates.

   "I don't know," Simon said drily, "I've been a little busy."

   I wiggled my fingers at him, urging him to check since Negan obviously wasn't here, and he pulled out his phone to check the score. His face dropped, and I got up to see what the screen said. Oh, God, if they lost, they'd be playing for bronze and who knows how Negan would take that.

   He tried to pull the phone away, but I was quicker and I scanned it quickly before gasping.

   Team USA won, but that wasn't what made me gasp. Negan had been taken off the ice on a stretcher. He'd been hurt in the third period.


	8. Skate Over My Heart, Why Don't You?

  
   Hospitals were the same no matter where you were. Same bleach smell. The same group of people sitting in a waiting room. Some in shock, some just numb, and some chatting quietly amongst themselves as they waited for an update. I'd spent too much time in them when my mom got bad, and each time I would do the same thing. 

   I always sat in the chair closest to the door so that I could talk to the doctor as soon as he'd come through to tell us how she was doing. Only this time, it wasn't my mother. It was the man that I'd just begun to care about, and his injury was being played on a constant loop on the television across from me. The announcers were speaking French, but the image was universal. 

   Negan was skating in the neutral zone, looking to make a pass when a defender came out of nowhere, blindsiding him, and his head rocked back as he took the full brunt of the hit, landing awkwardly on the ice, where he remained motionless until it cut away. They replayed it over and over, showing him being loaded onto a stretcher, giving a shaky thumbs up as the crowd applauded respectfully. 

   Simon and I had left the arena immediately, and I had no idea how the other programs had gone after I left, worrying about Negan more than my standing. Jesus, Daryl, Rick Grimes the coach, and a few other players were here as well, and Carol had shown up with a change of clothes for me about an hour after we arrived. 

   A lukewarm cup of coffee was sitting next to me but I hadn't touched it, instead tapping my foot up and down as I waited. Jesus and Daryl were murmuring quietly next to me, and I watched the door for any signs of the doctor. 

   Someone finally came out to update us twenty minutes later, and I shot out of my seat, followed by Rick and Simon as he spoke to us in heavily accented English.

   "He has a sprained neck," Dr. Duran explained as Rick looked both relieved and concerned at the same time. "We've done x-rays, and there is no fracture, but I'm sorry to say that he won't be playing for a minimum of two months while the injury heals. We're getting him a collar to wear, along with some medicine, and then he can be released, but he needs to rest."

   "How's he feeling?" I asked as Simon put his arm around me, and the doctor chuckled ruefully. 

   "He was very angry," he said, running his hand through his hair, " and he's not happy about the diagnosis, but we're giving him a shot to help with the pain, and I'll send him back with some pills to take. Hopefully, it will keep him calm."

   "Thank you," Rick stepped up, shaking his hand before going back to break the news to his team that Negan was done. Simon and I waited until we were allowed back to see him, and when we got into the room, Negan was laying on the bed with his eyes shut and his fists clenched. 

   Neither one of us said anything since we thought he might be sleeping, but he spoke after a minute of silence.

   "You didn't have to come. I'm fine."

   I wasn't sure if he was talking to me or Simon, but I stepped up to the bed, kissing him gently on the forehead. 

   "I'm so sorry that you got hurt. I was really worried about you."

   He opened his eyes, looking a little dazed, and I wondered if he had a concussion, but he laughed, holding up his arm. 

   "I got the good shit."

   Simon brought me over a chair, and I sat down next to him, taking him by the hand as he shut his eyes again, dozing lightly until the nurse came to remove his iv. While Simon went to see about his discharge papers, I ran my other and along his arm, stroking it lightly, and he let out a light, satisfied sound, squeezing my fingers. I had no idea how he was going to feel in the morning, but I could imagine that it wasn't going to be pretty. 

   Negan had been so focused on winning, cementing his legacy as the best hockey player since Wayne Gretzky that I knew the fact that he wouldn't be on the ice for the game was going to kill him. He identified himself as a winner, someone that could be counted on in the clutch, and I knew that a lot of the team looked up to him as well. He was a veteran presence on the ice, and they followed his example. It was going to suck for them, too, but I'm sure they were going to try to win for him.

   "Good news," Simon said as he stepped back in with the nurse and a stack of papers. "We can get you out of here."

   It was a careful process, getting him into the wheelchair that he was unhappy about using, but it was hospital policy, and luckily there was a garage exit so that he wouldn't be photographed or hounded as we left. The Olympic Village was also free of the press, and once we got back, Simon helped us upstairs before taking off for the night.

   Negan sat down on the bed, ripping off the collar and tossing it into the corner of the room, looking at me with tired eyes. As carefully as I could, I helped him out of his shirt, putting a fresh one on and stripping his pants before guiding him into the bed. He was supposed to take one of the pills before bed, and I went down as fast as I could to get him some bottled water, getting him to sit up to take it. 

   Wincing, he swallowed it before trying to get himself comfortable, and I started for the door.

   "Where are you going?"

   "Oh, I was going to my room so that you could get some rest."

   "Stay with me," he said in a drowsy voice, and I stood at the door debating what to do. I didn't have anything with me to sleep in, and I was afraid that any movement I made in bed would jolt his neck, but he looked so despondent that I ended up grabbing one of his shirts out of his closet and throwing it on, crawling into the bed and keeping my distance so that I didn't jostle him.

   He let out a pained sound as he scooted towards me, laying his head on my chest, and I kissed the top of his head when he draped his arm over my side, sighing. 

   "Get some sleep," I murmured, looking down at his dark hair before turning out the light. He was out almost immediately, but I wasn't. I couldn't sleep, wondering both if he'd be okay, and also about how the rest of my own competition went. I'd left right after my program, where I'd been in second place, but there were five skaters after me, meaning I could be sitting in seventh place right now. I really had no idea. At the moment, though, Negan was more important, and I could feel his breath on my chest, moving in and out slowly, and I drifted off with his weight blanketing me.

   A chill was what woke me in the morning, the lightness of no longer having him on top of me, and I rolled over to the side when the muted sound of a zipper closing filled the room. 

   Negan was standing in front of the dresser, shutting the drawers, and a large bag was sitting on top of it, already dressed for the day. As I started to focus, I saw that the closet door was open, and it was empty.

   Sitting up, I stretched my arms over my head, feeling my spine crack in several places, but he didn't turn around.

   "What's going on?" I asked, covering my mouth as I yawned, but he didn't answer, so I got out of the bed, approaching him from behind.

   "Negan, what are you doing?" I tried again.

   "I'm leaving," he said, refusing to turn around. 

   "What? Why?"

   Maybe it was because I'd just woken up out of a sound sleep, but the words didn't make sense to me, and I stared at his reflection in the mirror, seeing dark circles under his eyes, and the obvious discomfort as he looked down at the bag. 

   "Because I'm done. I can't play in the final game, so there's no fucking point for me to stay here. I'm going to a hotel, and when the game's over, I'm heading back home."

   "Wait a minute," I said, feeling like the rug had just been pulled out from under me, "you're just walking away?"

   "I'm not walking away," he snapped, finally looking up, and I was sorry that he did. He was cold and distant, and I backed up a step as he glared at me. "Don't you get it? It's over for me. This game, my entire season at home. It's fucking over. I get nothing now."

   "But my competition is in two days-"

   "Natalie, you don't need me for that. I didn't just come here to find a girlfriend and end up with a consolation medal. I came here to win, and just like that, it's gone."

   If he had slapped me, it would've been less shocking than what he just said, and I felt my hands start to shake, an earthquake of rejection, pain, and anger rumbling through my body.

   "You-" I breathed as he slammed another drawer shut, "You're the biggest asshole I've ever met. Do you even understand that I left my own goddamned competition to come and make sure you were all right? That I don't even know what place I'm in, but I spent the night with you because I was worried about you?"

   "I told you that you didn't need to be there," he said, and I cut him off.

   "No shit," I laughed in disbelief, "because I'm damned sure right at this moment that you wouldn't have done the same for me. All this time I thought that you were different. That you were better. But you're not. You're like Spencer's mirror image or something."

   "Oh, don't compare me to that fucker," he swore, turning around to face me for the first time, and I laughed again. 

   "You're right. I'm sorry," I said as his face softened. "You're worse. At least Spencer shit on me because I couldn't win for him, not because _he_ couldn't win for _himself_. This whole time you pursued me, you pushed me, and I thought that it was because you cared about me, but the first time something happens, you cut and run. And it has nothing to do with me."

   "Are you listening to me? I've just lost everything! My season is _gone_. Done. Over. This was a contract year for me."

   "Right. Sure. My condolences to you."

   I whipped his shirt off, stepping around him to stuff it in his bag. I wouldn't want him to leave anything behind on his way out of town, and I picked my clothes up off of the floor, dressing as quickly as I could.

   "Sweetheart, we haven't even slept together yet, and I..."

   I sat down to put my shoes on, a huffing sound escaping from my lungs. Of course, I wasn't serious to him, because he never got to fuck me. The fact that we'd spent every waking and non-waking moment together possible was just foreplay, apparently, and I got to my feet, heading for the door. I'd shared things with him that I'd never let anyone else see, and it was worth nothing to him.

   "I'll call you when you get home from here, and we can talk, okay?"

   Turning around, I shook my head at him, seeing him for who he really was. A damaged, broken man incapable of having a real relationship. He was even more fucked up than I was.

   "Oh, God, Negan, don't even bother, because that's not a phone call that I'd ever pick up. You'd just be wasting more of my time."

   I walked out without looking back as that first night replayed itself over and over in my head.

    _Don't let me push you away._

   That's what he'd said to me on the dancefloor, and I went back to my room in a daze, shutting myself inside away from everyone. I let him push me away, because I didn't have the energy to _not_ let him.


	9. Return to Sender

  
   I hit the ice again, bouncing twice as I slid to a stop, letting out a very loud 'fuck' along the way. It was the umpteenth time I'd fallen, and day two was going worse than day one of practice had. Somehow, I'd regressed, skating like a novice so that even the most simple jump was wobbly, unfocused, and just plain ugly.

   Simon had bitten his tongue so far, but I knew that it wasn't going to last much longer. I was an adult, and he was being generous in giving me time to work through my latest roadblock, but his patience would only last for so long, and then I'd be hearing it. As it was, I could see his mustache twitching in the distance, and I hauled myself up from the frozen surface, attacking the combo again, getting the same results yet again. My ass was taking a pounding, and not in a good way.

   "Get the hell off of the ice," he said shortly, and I brushed past him towards the locker room with him hot on my heels. It wasn't even ten o'clock, and we were well on our way to our first fight in years when he shut the door behind me.

   "You're a day before the biggest moment in your professional life, what you've worked for since you were a kid, and you're letting all go to shit because of a guy."

   "This isn't about him," I said, my voice catching as I glared at him. "Fuck him."

   "Have we ever lied to each other? Are we going to start now?"

   I sat down on the bench, slamming my skate down in frustration, and he plopped down next to me as my head dropped into my hands. I was sick of this locker room. Tired of its pea green walls and musky smell. Sick of the brown, industrial carpeting and claustrophobic feeling. Everything else in this arena was newer, refurbished. All except for this locker room. It wasn't mandatory that we use it, but since it was so unappealing, no one else ever came in, and I got a bit of privacy. But I was ready to go home, go back to anonymity, and the drudgery of my day-to-day life.

   I wasn't built for a larger stage, I knew that now. The pressures that I put on myself were nothing compared to what had been placed on me since the moment that...man had barged his way into my life, and though he was no longer here, I was still being hounded. By other athletes, people trying to get an interview, and the asshole himself.

   The first time was just a few hours after I'd left him in his room packing up his shit to run away to a hotel. I'm not made of stone, and I could understand his deep anger about not being able to play in the gold medal game against Canada. I could sympathize with his feelings of rage about the injury taking away the rest of his NHL season. I understood the disappointment in not being able to compete, believe me. I'd missed competitions, gotten hurt, watched others celebrate while I was sitting on the sidelines.

   It was the running away that got to me. Running from me is what it felt like, and when he'd told me that I wasn't a priority, well, it hurt. I never expected declarations of love or flowery words after just a week, but I thought that he'd be there to support me. To encourage me like he'd been doing. That I was more than I was.

   But a few hours after he'd left, I got the first phone call. I'd been laying in my bed, staring at the wall when my cell began to vibrate. Reaching for it, I'd seen his name flash across the screen, a picture of him that he'd taken and uploaded to my phone of him looking seductively at the camera, and I sent it right to voicemail. He didn't leave one, but he called again after another hour.

   I'd been on the treadmill, running like my life depended on it, and this time it was just a short message to please get back to him. Nope. Not going to happen. If he wanted the Ice Queen, he'd gotten her for sure. I wasn't going to stroke his ego and comfort him. I'd done that the night before. I still had the most important event of my life coming up, and I owed it to myself, to my parents, to Simon to put my all into it.

   But like any man, if you ignore him long enough, it'll eventually pique his interest like never before, and I got a visit from security, informing me that a package had arrived at their office for me.

   Intrigued, I had Jesus and Daryl come with me to pick it up, only to find that there was a wide-eyed floral delivery boy standing there with a huge bouquet of yellow roses and a little white card.

   I'd dialed Simon's number, asking him where Negan was staying. He was unusually subdued when he told me, which led me to believe he and Negan had engaged in an uncomfortable conversation, and after taking all of Jesus' money that he had on him, I told the poor guy to take them to the hotel and give them back, tipping him generously.

   Was it immature and petty? Absolutely, but so was Negan.

   Approximately an hour later, I received another call and a very hissy voicemail that I was acting like an asshole, and to call him back or he was going to drive over to the Village.

   I have no idea why he thought that calling me an asshole was a good way to get me to comply, and I knew that he couldn't come back to the dorms because he'd turned in all of his credentials, so I fluffed it off, much to Jesus's unhappiness.

   "Don't you think you should just hash this out with him?" he asked as I laced up my skates, and I shot him a look that made him flinch.

   "Fuck, no. Would you if Daryl turned tail and ran and you had nothing to do with it? If Daryl told you that you weren't a priority?"

   "I don't think that's what he meant, Nat. He just got a shock, and he's upset. He didn't handle it right, but if you really care about him, you won't shut him out."

   "I don't have time for this," I said, standing up. "If he's allowed to prioritize his job over me, I'm entitled to do the same. I'll probably never have this chance again, and I'm not letting it slip away."

   "It doesn't have to be either/or," he said as I started to walk away. "You can have both."

   "No, I can't," I told him as I headed out to practice. "I never could."

   While I was out on the ice, failing spectacularly, my phone was filling up with messages that ping-ponged between frustrated and remorseful, and I almost broke until I listened to the last one.

   "I thought you were different," he said in a chilly voice. "I thought you could understand where I'm coming from, but I was wrong. You're as cold as fucking ice, sweetheart."

   At that point, I turned my phone off, calling my mom and dad and giving them Jesus's cell phone number so that they could contact me. And I was alright that night. I hung out in the lounge, I played pool with Maggie and Rosita. I listened to Jesus sing, shaking his ass all over the karaoke stage. For a while, I was okay.

   Until I wandered into the television room and saw that everyone was watching some French entertainment show. I spoke rudimentary French, and I saw that they were doing some pieces on the Olympics, and I sat on the arm of one of the sofas to watch when my face flashed on the screen with Negan's, framed by a heart. We were side by side, stock photos of us, and the heart ripped in two with my picture dropping off of the screen.

   "Olympic love? Or a winter fling? It seems to be the latter as Negan was spotted stepping out with Swiss model Julia Ordon," a lazy voiceover declared, switching to a grainy picture of Negan and a gorgeous blonde woman walking out of a restaurant. "The hockey superstar was injured in the battle for the gold, and left the Olympic Village, taking up residence in the Hotel Royal for the duration of the games."

   It was a punch to the gut, and I felt everyone in the room turn around to stare at me as My entire body flooded with heat. Give the guy credit, he really knew how to hit where it hurt, and I struggled to keep my composure. Years of learning to mask my true emotions was the only thing that saved me, and I pasted a mocking smile on my face as I stood up.

   "Man, what a downgrade, am I right?" I joked as one of the girls gave me an empathetic smile.

   Like his namesake, Jesus appeared right when I needed him the most, and he told me that I was up next to sing, dragging me by the arm into the next room. My feet were numb as we ended up in the hall, and I mumbled an excuse, fleeing back to my room to lick my wounds. It was singlehandedly the most humiliating moment in my life, and I'm including when my boob popped out during a competition two years ago.

   I didn't cry, though, and I considered that a small victory. Negan could go back to his models, and I could go home with hopefully two medals, if I could rise above fourth place. When I'd gone to the hospital to be with him, I had no idea where I'd end up. But Beth had vaulted over Donna to the number one spot, and Autumn had beat me by two-tenths of a point. I could do it, I knew I could. If I could just get back out of my own head like before.

   Day two was no better, though, which was why I was sitting in the locker room with Simon, who was trying to figure out what to do. He finally let out a sigh, kissing the top of my head.

   "Take a break, get yourself together, and we'll try it again. I'll tell Autumn's coach that we're done for now, and you can get back out there when she's finished."

   I nodded my head, watching him as he walked out with slumped shoulders. This win didn't only affect me. It was Simon's legacy as well, and if he was able to boast that he coached an Olympic winner, he'd be sure to grow his own stable of skaters, and once again, I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.

   Grabbing a bottle of water and my iPod, I laid down on the bench, bending my knees as I pressed shuffle, trying to chase away all of the ghosts that hovered in my consciousness. Negan. Spencer. My parents. The nameless faces in the crowd that sat in silence evaluating and watching me. The judges that held my future in their hands.

   And then inspiration struck as song number three started, one that I normally skipped since it was slow and filled with an experience I hadn't felt in a long time, and as I listened to the words, I felt my eyes fill with tears, my heart throbbing in pain. I could relate to the fear, to the trepidation in the chorus, in more than one way, and I blindly pressed the repeat button, listening to it two more times before beginning to run my routine through my head, trying to make it fit.

   When Simon came to fetch me to try again, I wordlessly handed him the earbuds, and he listened while keeping his gaze trained on me. There was a light in his eyes as he knew what I was thinking, and he led me back to the ice, scratching the back of his ear while he walked. It was an unequivocal sign that he was thinking about my program, and before I hit the ice, he had already suggested two different changes, barking out orders to me as I took the ice, at first skating without any music.

   There was a lull in the practice schedule, as he ran the music device to the guy that operated the sound booth so that we could put the moves together, and the arena was deserted as I finally got my groove back, landing every jump, every spin, every deliberate movement that was a perfect compliment to the words, my story in the making.

   The second my big toe was on solid ground, Simon swept me up, laughing as he spun in a huge circle. "Will the costume work, or does Carol need to raid the stores?"

   "I need something simpler, I think," I was breathless, tired in a good way when he set me back down.

   He pulled out his phone, pressing a button before holding it to his ear.

   "Hey, sweetness," he said as he grinned at me. "She's back, and she needs your help."

   I could hear Carol's muffled exclamation before the call disconnected, and we started for the locker room. While I showered and changed, Simon kept an eye out for his paramour, dragging her by the hand when she got there, taking the garment bag from her and hanging it on a hook.

   She'd brought five different outfits, making me try each of them on while she listened to the song, evaluating what would suit it best, immediately nixing the white one she'd designed, deeming it too close to the cream one I'd worn in the short program. Similarly, the red, the midnight blue, and the hunter green also hit the 'no' pile, leaving just the black one, and I stood in front of her as she hummed to the music, piling my hair on top of my head with her hands as she studied me, her lips disappearing as she finally nodded in approval.

   "I'm going to touch it up tonight," she announced, and I rushed back in to get changed. I never cared what I wore, I only asked that it be comfortable and allow me to move. All of the style choices I left up to her, and she'd never missed a mark yet, so I was confident that the physical presentation would be fine.

   As I slid on my boots, my recently turned on phone beeped, displaying a whole shitload of angry face emojis, and I knew it was from Jesus. The gold medal game was starting in one hour, and I needed to haul ass to meet him to watch. He'd assured me at least fifty times over the past twenty-four hours that Negan would be nowhere near us, most likely in a luxury box, and I had no choice but to believe him, not that it was going to be a problem. He had a model that was probably twice my height to keep him company while he watched the team win for him.

   By the time I got back to the Village, he was pacing like a madman in front of the entrance, and he jumped into the car, his mouth going a mile a minute as he verbally berated me for being late.

   "I mean, it's only the gold medal game," he chirped, fussing with my hair while we drove, "feel free to be fashionably fucking late to my boyfriend's crowning moment."

   "I fixed my program, dickhead," I slapped his hand away from me in irritation, and his hand froze in midair before he actually clapped it to his mouth dramatically.

  "Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry, Nat. I _am_ a dickhead," he waved his hands in the air, marking a reset. "Tell me everything."

   As we made our way to the arena, I told him about the song and my inspiration, and he listened quietly, smiling when I shrugged my shoulders. "It's you. It's perfectly you, and you're going to fucking knock the house down when you skate, I feel it in my bones."

   "Yeah, well, you thought Negan was a good guy, too," I joked, and he looked like I'd slapped him. "Hey, I'm kidding," I told him. "I didn't mean anything by it."

   He gave me an uneasy look, and I chewed on my lip as we passed by people walking into the building, some in red and white, and others in red, white and blue. I tipped the driver before we clambered out, joining the throngs of rowdy fans, and Jesus smacked me every time he spotted someone wearing a Dixon jersey. Unfortunately for me, the Negan ones were the most dominant, and I stopped at the concession stand as Jesus whined until I finally snatched my ticket out of his hand and pushed him, telling him to fucking go and get out of my face.

   He stomped off, his hair flying as I waited my turn, ordering the largest beer they had and making the slow crawl to my seat. There was music blaring, people cheering, and I descended the steps to our row, stumbling over peoples feet as I tried to reach my seat, throwing myself down without looking, my eyes on my beer while Jesus kept the program by his head, shutting me out.

   The crowd let out a roar as both teams took the ice for the warm-up skate prompting some drunk boob behind me to shout out to win it for Negan before starting a U.S.A. chant, and I wedged by drink between my knees to clap halfheartedly.

   "All right, I'm sorry I snapped at you. Can you put the program down? God," I griped, yanking at the book, and when he lowered it, I slopped my beer down the front of my shirt.

   "Hi," Negan said, giving me a serious look before all hell broke loose around us once everyone realized who was sitting there.


	10. You Wreck Me

   Men and women were crowding around us like we were an attraction at the zoo, gawking, taking pictures and screaming for Negan's attention, all while I was hastily trying to keep my nipples from showing through my very wet, white t-shirt. In hindsight, it wasn't the best fashion choice I'd ever had, but I also didn't think that the man in question would be sitting next to me, popping out from behind a program like the Joker or something.

   Once I zipped up my jacket, I settled into a really good impersonation of a turnip, my least favorite vegetable. Staring straight ahead, not speaking, just zoning out while dozens of people tried to take pictures, get autographs, and scream out their undying love for America's favorite Captain. 

   The only reason that I hadn't gotten up and walked away to find Jesus and engage in a knock-down, drag-out brawl with him, complete with hair-pulling and nipple twisting was because I couldn't get out of my seat, surrounded on all sides by sycophants. Also, because we were now on camera, being broadcasted on the big screen, and I smiled politely into the distance, staring at a Swiss flag that hung above the scoreboard. 

   A group of security guards was making its way through the crowd, ordering everyone to disperse and go back to their seats, and I was able to breathe freely until one lone drunk frat boy remained, swaying on his feet. He was barechested, painted blue with a giant 'A' on his chest, and he attempted to touch Negan, pulling his arm away at the last second.

   "You are the fucking _man_!" he slurred, tipping over precariously, and I reached out automatically to keep him from landing on Negan's head since he was unable to look up at such a sharp angle. 

   "Thanks, son. I appreciate that," Negan told him as the guards started to come back down to escort 'A' hole back to his seat.

   "I'm serious, man. You bagged two hot chicks while you were here. The model, and...the skater," he burped, looking at me with unfocused eyes. "Yeah, her," he pointed at me as my eyes closed slowly. Nice.

   "Hey, what the fuck?"

   My eyelids snapped open to see that Negan was on his feet with the man's wrist in a vice grip, and everyone around me watched in shock. 

   "Mind your fucking manners, kid, and show the lady some respect," Negan growled, only letting him go after security had a hold on him, and while his back was turned, I got up, edging my way back down the aisle to the other set of steps. 

   It was mortifying and hurtful to be reminded of what he'd been up to, and I started the long climb out of the seating area, my chest sticky with beer. 

   "Please stop."

   Negan was behind me, and I could hear him pushing his way through the crowd with even more murmurs as he became visible to everyone that was still lingering in the hallways.

   "Natalie, stop, goddamn it."

   He wasn't going to embarrass me in front of a group of strangers, and I halted my steps, allowing him to catch up to me as he tried to play it off to make it look like we weren't fighting. My hand was closed up by his, and I let him pull me through the thoroughfare to a set of steps that were blocked by an usher. With his free hand, he pulled out two tickets, handing them to the man and he waved us up. 

   Once we were away from anyone that could see us, I extracted my hand, but I followed him anyway, up a flight of steps and to a wide hallway that curved slightly. The floors were laid with stone tile, and every twenty feet or so there was a door with a number on it, signifying which luxury box it was. 

   Negan stopped in front of box 221 and he pulled a key card out of his jacket, sliding it into a lock until a light turned green. When he opened the door, he stepped inside, removing his coat with a groan, rubbing his back of his neck. It wasn't until he realized that I hadn't come inside that he turned around, looking at me with expectation.

   "What do you want?" I finally asked, backing up to the opposite wall and propping my right foot against it and crossing my arms over my chest.

   "What do I want? Are you fucking kidding me, what do I want?"

   He acted like I was a simpleton, and the answer should be obvious, but I didn't budge, staring him down. 

   "Natalie, please come inside so that we can talk. You owe me that, at least."

   "I don't owe you shit. You came here for a medal, remember? A legacy. Not a girlfriend. The only ones that owe you anything are your teammates."

   "I don't want to leave things like this," he said, extending his hand even though we were at least ten feet apart. 

   Well, who doesn't love a good break-up recap? Maybe he was going to give me all the details about his date with the model. What she ate, her likes and dislikes. How could I possibly resist?

   Using my foot, I pushed myself back up, and stepped into the room, glancing out to see that the countdown was on. Five minutes before the game started, and I sat down on the couch that faced a nice flat-screen television, which had two announcers discussing the United States chances of winning without Negan. 

   He didn't even glance at it as he sat down in front of me on the table, our knees brushing together as he leaned his forearms on his knees, his neck stiff and unmoving. 

   "I've been on my own for twenty years. I've always called all of the shots, made all of the decisions, and they've only affected me. So you have to understand that I'm not used to taking someone else's feelings into account," he said, clasping his hands together. "And I didn't expect to come here and meet someone like you."

   I was strangely unmoved, even knowing about his sad past, and I kept staring at him blankly.

   "This isn't the way I wanted this week to end. I thought that I'd be down there, working my ass off for my third gold medal, not crippled like an old fucking man. My sport is all I've had for my entire adult life, and I'm not...I wasn't prepared for you to worm your way into my heart so quickly."

   "Well, thanks for making me sound like some disease," I snapped, rolling my eyes. 

   "Jesus, that's not what I meant," he said, sounding frustrated. "You have a way of pissing me off like no other woman I've ever been with. It's so fucking annoying and amazing at the same time, and I'm truly sorry for hurting you. I don't react well to not getting what I want, and what I wanted the most was to leave here with everything, including you."

   "Let me just ask you this," I said, loosening my arms slightly. "If I hadn't woken up when I did, were you even going to tell me you were leaving?"

   "Yes," he answered immediately as I gave him a doubtful scowl. "Probably."

   "Why not?"

   Negan rolled his tongue around his teeth, buying himself some time, and I got up, walking over to the cooler that was emblazoned with the five Olympic rings, sliding open the glass top and grabbing a fresh beer and a bottle of water, handing him the lesser of the two drinks. 

   "You know, for as much as I'm told my walls are up, you're not any better," I mused before taking a swig. "How can you expect me to let you in, when you aren't willing to do the same for me? I mean, did you think that I'd think less of you because you got hurt? Do you think that all of these people here that worship your every move would think less of you?"

   "I _want_ to let you in," he said, looking at my chin and not my eyes, which didn't make me feel any more secure. "I want to you know me, this good and the really fucking bad, but I'm so used to not letting myself think about anything but the next game, the next screw, that any time I think about moving on, it's like picking at an old scab. Every time you rip it off, you just get a bigger one. What if I've picked at my heart so much that there's nothing left but scar tissue? What then?"

    _That_ I understood. The fear that what you did constituted who you were. It was all you were. And when you weren't enough, people just dropped you on the ground and stepped over you, discarded like trash. 

   I studied the stiffness in his neck. The fine tremor in his hands from gripping his knees so tightly that the fabric of his pants covered half of his fingers. The belief that he was only worth one night stands and superficial connections, so laden with guilt over his wife that he might never put himself out there again.

   "The problem is...you and I have been here in a vacuum," I told him quietly, barely heard over the sound of the crowd gearing up. "This isn't real life. Who are you when you're not here? You play for nine months of the year, and I travel all over the country competing in any event that I can qualify for."

   "I'm not doing anything for the next two months," he reminded me, fixing me with a stern gaze, and I bristled slightly. It wasn't my fault he was hurt. 

   "Well, what about Julia? Are you going to date us both?"

   "Who?"

   "The model you went to dinner with last night," I said, and it was my turn to look away. "There was a lovely piece on it last night while I was sitting in the television room in front of everyone. They showed a picture of the two of you together. Did you sleep with her?"

   "No." It was clear and concise, no wavering at all, and I looked back at him. "Her manager knows mine, and she found out where I was having dinner. She showed up there, and I didn't know until we walked out to part ways that she'd called the press so that they could get pictures. Nothing happened. She fed them all that bullshit." 

   Why did I feel a rush of relief? Why did I have to fight to keep a smile off of my face? Why did it matter so much to me?

   "I know you don't want to believe it, but she bored the fuck out of me. Talking about modeling, and trivial bullshit. I literally almost fell asleep at the table."

   My mouth twitched, but that was all I let it do, standing up to go out to the seats to watch the game. The announcer had asked that everyone stand for both country's national anthems, and I needed to take a breath. 

   They played 'O Canada' first, a beautiful rendition that all of the Canadians in the crowd sang along to before transitioning into the Star Spangled Banner. I mouthed along with the words, discreetly placing my hand over my heart as I looked down at the ice, picking out Daryl's number. He was starting the game, on the top line, and Negan came out to stand beside me, looking so intense that I wondered if any woman could ever compare to the love he felt for the game.

   Our conversation was forgotten the moment the puck dropped onto the ice, ten men in two different uniforms all battling for dominance over a tiny rubber disk. Every once in a while, Negan's arms would twitch, like he was trying to get at the puck, control it somehow, and I began to watch him as much as the action below, wondering how his mind worked. It was ingrained in him, a functioning part of him like his circulatory system. 

   "Split the D, split the D," he chanted, trying to will Daryl into open ice, but the Canadians were just as good as his men, and the first period was an up and down affair, kept scoreless by the goalies. When the buzzer sounded for the first intermission, he sat back in his seat for the first time, letting out a stressed breath.

   "How's your neck?" I asked as he blinked at me like I just appeared out of nowhere, and the term 'hockey widow' came to mind. 

   "Huh?" he spluttered before rubbing the tender spot. "Sore."

   "Did you bring your pills?"

   He patted his pocket, pulling out a bottle, and I went back into the lounge, bringing him some water. He thanked me quietly, setting the white pill on his tongue and chasing it down with a grimace. 

   "Have you thought about what we talked about?"

   "I've been a little preoccupied," I answered, sitting back down next to him and unzipping my jacket, pulling my shirt away from my stomach and moving it back and forth to try to air it out. When I glanced back at him, he was looking down my shirt. "Seriously?"

   A sheepish smile slowly spread across his face, and I shook my head before settling back to think. Not about him, but about my program coming up, and how even after a week, he   seemed to know me.

   "No matter what happens tomorrow, you're always going to be one of the best skaters I've ever seen."

   I looked down at the other ice wistfully, wanting to believe him, the man who first told me that I was so tight on the ice that I could produce diamonds. 

   "I'd like you to be there for my routine."

   "Sweetheart, zombies couldn't keep me away."

   "You're so fucking weird," I chuckled, and he reached out to take my hand. "I mean, I want you there because of the importance to me, what I have to say with it."

   Every time his thumb moved back and forth over the top of my hand, it sent an electric charge up my spine, a slow spreading warmth that simmered just under my heart, and I let out a breathy sound. Negan was unlike anyone I'd ever met, man or woman. An endlessly fascinating and frustrating puzzle and I had the feeling that if I could just solve him, it would be worth the trouble. I wondered if he felt the same way about me.

   The second period was much like the first, a chess battle, a game of chicken for the goaltenders, though the Americans nearly scored on a scrum around the net, the puck sliding behind the Canadian goalie and bouncing off of the post just wide. I could feel the desperation on both teams to get the upper hand, and when the third period started, the camera showed Negan watching intently, sending a wave of excitement through the crowd.

   He gave them a wave and that trademark smile before reverting to complete concentration, his burning desire overtaking anything else. 

   The clash of sticks, the spray of ice, the groans of the crowd when a shot went wide, it was building to a fever pitch when number twenty-two of the U.S. was tripped in front of the ref, who called an immediate penalty. There were only four minutes left in regulation, and Rick called a timeout, gathering his men on the bench for instruction as to what he wanted. Since the penalty was called in the offensive zone, that's where the puck drop was going to be, and Negan mumbled something about a quick shot. 

   Both of us were leaning over the railing as the players took their positions, Daryl set up at the high circle with his stick ready and waiting. As soon as the puck touched down, his center swept it back to him, and he let loose a blistering slap shot, sending the biscuit so hard towards the net that it tipped off of the goaltender's glove and landed at the back of the net.

   Negan shot out of his seat, letting out a roar along with the rest of the crowd as I did the same. The adrenaline, the pride, it was almost unbearable as Daryl skated to the glass, jumping up into it like a monster, and four other men swarmed him. 

   Half of the crowd was in disbelief, and the rest were beyond elation, a seesaw of emotions as play resumed. Everyone in red and white was screaming for a goal, just one goal to keep their hopes alive. Everyone in red, white, and blue was screaming for defense, to keep their hopes alive, and Negan was preternaturally calm, as if accepting fate and whatever it had in store. 

   I stood next to him, taking his hand and holding it to my heart. My heart was really in my throat, and my brain was ready to burst out of the top of my skull. Everyone else could keep their Hail Mary's, their no-hitters, their half-court shots. This, to me, was the most exciting sport in existence, and for four minutes, I held my breath as well as Negan's hand, trying to will the puck to stay out of the offensive zone with my mind. 

   One minute. Forty seconds. An empty net and an extra attacker for our friends up North, and every player collapsed around the goal, either to keep the puck out, or just jam it in, and when the clock hit zero, the entire place erupted. It was unreal, like New Year's had come, or maybe Jesus down from the rafters. 

   When I finally dared to look at Negan, he was crying, letting the tears flow down his face, and I took him with both hands, turning him gently towards me so as not to hurt his neck. 

   He had no words, and I whispered a small congratulations to him that I'm not even sure he heard. 

   "What are you waiting for?" I smiled at him as he seemed to be in shock. "Go get that fucking medal."

   Out of nowhere, he bent me backward, giving me a searingly hot kiss before backing away and wiping his eyes, taking off out of the lounge door to go be with his team. 

   I stood above for an hour, watching the celebration and thinking about the kiss. The fact that I'd chosen exactly the right song. I just hope that he thought I did, too.


	11. 231.85

  
   The medal couches were currently filled by the fifth, sixth, and seventh place women, and I was on deck for my final performance of these games. 

   A whirlwind was what the past twenty-four hours had been since Negan walked out of the luxury box to collect what was probably his final Olympic medal. I'd stood above, watching as Rick placed the blue ribbon around his neck, moving onto the next person, and even from such a high vantage point, I could tell that he was looking up at me.

   What I didn't know was that when he'd kissed me out in the open, about a hundred different people had snapped a picture, and it was all over the internet in a matter of minutes. My phone had exploded with texts, phone calls, requests for statements and interviews, and I'd fled the arena on my own, disappearing into the crowd until I could order a driver to pick me up. 

   By the time I made it back to my room, my battery was nearly dead, and I plugged in my cell, calling to check in on my mom and dad. Unfortunately, their numbers were easily accessible, and their phone had been ringing off the hook for hours. 

   "You didn't tell me you were dating that handsome hockey player," my mom chuckled, clearly less upset about the invasion of my privacy than I was. "He's the one that sent Murphy all of the treats, right?"

   "Yes, mom," I sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry that you're being dragged into this."

   "Oh, honey, we're just thrilled that you're finally finding something that makes you happy."

   "I _am_ happy, Mom. I've been happy."

   "Natalie, you've been happy at times, but you're not truly joyful. I know why you work so hard, why you put everything you have into skating and winning, and it's not your responsibility to take care of me. I can't be the reason that you close yourself off from the world anymore," she chuckled, one of the most comforting sounds in my life. "Dad got promoted at work, and with it comes better insurance, corporate grade."

   "What? When did this happen?" I asked, sitting up and pacing around the room. 

   "It's been in the works for weeks. We didn't want to burden you or worry you, but this is a good thing, Sweetie. With the bump in pay, and the fact that my prescriptions are going to be covered means that you can take a step back, now. Go on dates with that gorgeous man. Spend time with your friends. Figure out if skating makes you feel fulfilled, and for Pete's sake, have fun!"

   We talked for a few more minutes, and she promised me that she'd call and get her phone number changed before hanging up, telling me again how much she loved me and how proud of me she was.

   It was after midnight when I finally washed my face, falling into the bed with a sigh and scrolling through Twitter. There were a few different angles of the kiss between Negan and I, but they were all the same. Both of us with our eyes closed, me bent backwards as Negan draped himself over me with my hands clutching his shoulders. Our lips were pressed tightly together, stirring a lick of desire between my thighs, and it was like I could smell him on me, that cologne he wore mixed with the spicy musk of his natural scent.

   My phone rang, scaring the shit out of me, and I dropped it onto my face, smacking my lip as I scrambled to answer it. Negan's face replaced my own, and I hit the green button, holding it to my ear. 

   "Hello?"

   "Hey, sweetheart. Where are you?"

   He sounded drunk as hell, and I could hear men chanting, cheering, and just generally celebrating in the background along with some rock music playing at a very high volume.

   "I'm in my room, Negan. I have my competition tomorrow."

   "Oh, fuck, sweetie, I'm sorry. I thought you were coming out with us. I've been waiting for you."

   The words were slurred, and I was both touched and irritated as I rolled to my side, staring out at the moon as it peeked through the blinds. 

   "Is there someone that can make sure you get home safe and not drown in your own vomit?" I asked, feeling the ache in my core dissipate. 

   "We're at my hotel. And I don't vomit," he chuckled, low in his throat. "I stopped drinking, beautiful. I just wanted to see you."

   I wanted to see him, too, but it was late, and logic dictated that I put myself first, and I grumbled to myself. 

   "I can't. I need to get some rest."

   It sounded like the phone was dropped, and I held it away from my ear as it boomed loudly. 

   "Ah, shit. I'm fucking sorry. It's too crowded in here."

   "No, it's fine. Just go enjoy your party, and I'll see you at the arena," I told him, finally getting him off the phone a few minutes later. It took me a while to fall asleep, my thoughts volleying between my parents, my mom's words to me, my talk with Negan, and my hopes for tomorrow. 

   I wanted gold. Everyone here did, but realistically, Beth was the most likely one to get her hands on that medal. I may be in fourth, but that didn't mean I was out. The margin separating Autumn and I was razor thin, so I had every bit as much of a chance to be on the podium as she did, since the distance between fourth and fifth was over ten points, as long as I didn't have any major fuckups, I was in charge of my own destiny.

   It was a destiny that I was anxious to get to, and the next morning, I put my feet down on the floor, taking the first steps to fulfill it. For a brief time, I reverted to a partial machine. I ate, I exercised, I practiced my moves, and I shut out all outside distractions, including Negan. 

   When I got to the arena to stay, I took the pea green locker room again, only letting Carol and Simon in to see me. Jesus and Maggie understood, and they told me they'd see me after, going to stay with Beth until it was time to skate. The only thing I'd let in the room besides my coaches was another large bouquet of roses, this time red ones. 

   The card wasn't signed, but it didn't matter. Only the words did.

  _Leave it all on the ice._  
 _I'll be there for you when you step off of it._

 

   It made my heart flame and my spine tingle, and I tucked the note into my bag, not wanting anyone else to see it. The message was for me and me alone. 

   After the first set of skaters, the final group took their warm-ups, and when I stepped out, I heard a distinct loud cheer from behind my back, a rowdy, masculine group, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw a familiar red scarf in the middle of it when I turned.

   He was here. For me.

   Like a trap door, I shut everything out while I warmed up, concentrating only on some rudimentary jumps and practice spins, hopefully getting out the last bit of nervous energy. There was nothing I could do about anyone else's performance, only my own, and so that I didn't rush into any hasty decisions, I kept to myself until it was time for my free program. 

   "Tallie, it's your turn."

   Simon opened the door to escort me to the ice, and I stood just out of view of the crowd, taking a deep breath as he watched me with a loving smile. 

   "You've got this," he said in a strangled voice, and I could see that his eyes were shiny. Before I took my place, I threw my arms around him, hugging him quickly. 

   As soon as I came into sight, the announcer introduced me to a healthy response from the crowd, and I skated to the center of the ice, giving the judges a nod that I was ready. 

   The first mellow strains of the song started, and I let myself go.

    _I know that when you look at me_  
 _There's so much that you just don't see_

   I spun slowly on the ice, reaching out to the crowd blindly, beckoning them to see the real Natalie.

    _But if you would only take the time_  
 _I know in my heart you'd find_  
 _A girl who's scared sometimes_  
 _Who isn't always strong_

   The Natalie that always had to be the best. The girl that put everything on her shoulders because that's how she thought it had to be. 

    _Can't you see the hurt in me?_  
 _I feel so all alone_  
 _I wanna run to you_  
 _I wanna run to you_

   I wanted something of my own for the future, something that I wasn't doing or feeling because I thought I was supposed to. I wanted someone to be mine and mine alone. Something that wouldn't be judged in terms of points and prizes.

  _Won't you hold me in your arms_  
 _And keep me safe from harm?_  
 _I want to run to you_  
 _But if I come to you_  
 _Tell me, will you stay or will you run away?_

   I chased what I wanted on the ice, backed away from what I didn't, jumping into the air with my arms above my head, landing my first combination to cheers from the crowd, but it didn't encourage or deter me in any way. This time, each movement was for me. Not my parents, not Simon, not even Negan. It was my declaration to them all. 

    _Each day, each day I play the role_  
 _Of someone always in control_  
 _But at night I come home and turn the key_  
 _There's nobody there, no one cares for me_  
 _What's the sense of trying hard to find your dreams_  
 _Without someone to share it with_  
 _Tell me what does it mean?_

   I lost myself in the fear, the baring of my soul to every person that dared to watch me, and the man wearing the red scarf that wanted an answer from me. He wanted to know what would happen if I found out that his heart was as scarred as my own. 

  _I need you here to wipe away my tears_  
 _To kiss away my fears_  
 _If you only knew how much_  
 _I wanna run to you_

   This was my answer, this dance on ice. Each jump I completed, each spin. Triple loop, double axel, double axel, all three in a row to a roaring response. Love me. Love myself. Open up to me like I'm baring myself to you. 

    _Won't you hold me in your arms_  
 _And keep me safe from harm_  
 _I want to run to you_  
 _But if I come to you_  
 _Tell me, will you stay or will you run away?_  
  
   I went into my final spiral combination, letting the world blur out of control, letting myself go, pushing away everything. Every second of hesitation, every worry about what everyone else thought, every time I shut myself down and locked myself away from each and every person out there in the blur. 

   When the final notes faded away, I closed my eyes, bracing for nothingness. But that's not what happened. I was enveloped in cheers so loud that I burst into tears, covering my face as I bent over, exhausted and overcome with raw, naked fear. I couldn't straighten up for several seconds, yet the cheering never stopped. Not when I finally bowed to each corner of the arena, not when I dragged myself over to the wall. Not until Simon hugged me so roughly that I thought I would snap in two.

   "That was it, love. You did it. You're done, now. Take a breath."

   I put my blade covers on with shaking hands, giving the crowd a wave before sitting down on the couch to wait for my scores. I couldn't talk, couldn't think, couldn't avoid the stares and tremors that rippled through the air as I saw Simon's mouth moving but didn't understand the words that he spoke. I was in some sort of liquid fog, waiting for either confirmation that I was understood or denial of my offering of myself to the masses.

   152.25

   The crowd went crazy as I tried to do the math in my head, swept off of the sofa by Simon as he laughed hysterically. I should know where I was in the running, but I couldn't make my brain work yet, and I let him guide me back into the bowels of the building where he deposited me in the gold medal spot, kissing the top of my head.

   231.85 was my final score once combined with the short program, and all I could do now was wait. Fifth and sixth place both congratulated me as we watched the screen to see Autumn Pascale wait to be called on. She looked beautiful, her hair looped around her head in braids and a deep purple dress. Royalty on the ice, and she glided forward to applause as I held my breath.

   She was good. Very good, but not good enough to pull off a triple axel, and she landed on the ground in a heap as I felt my jaw clench in anticipation. She would get big points for attempting it, but falling was going to cost her if the rest of her performance didn't hold up. When she took her bow, I tried to guess where she'd end up, but I couldn't even fathom it. I only knew she had to get three tenths less than I did if I had any chance to stand on that podium.

   140.10

   Oh, my fucking God. I was going to medal tonight. I'd done it. For me. 

   Sixth place left with slumped shoulders, and fifth place moved to the bronze couch when Autumn appeared, talking heatedly with her coach as I took a bottle of water, downing half of it before she sat down, and the camera flashed on the two of us. Autumn smiled, pulling me in for a hug as she shifted us so that the camera couldn't see her lips moving.

   "Congratulations, Natalie. It seems you'll be leaving with the man and the medal."

   Her voice was icy and her grip was tight on my neck, so I hugged her back just as strongly, whispering in her ear.

   "Damn fucking straight, Angelina." She jerked at the name, but I held her firmly. "I want it all."

   Donna Poole was the next to the last skater for the night, and she worked her ass off, leading me to believe that I'd be taking home the bronze, but when her scores came up on the screen, I had the shock of my life. She was two points behind me, knocking fifth place out of the running and Autumn to bronze.

   At this point, I was on the verge of heart failure, the thought that I'd be standing next to Beth as she held the gold and I held the silver, the National Anthem playing as our flag rose above us. It was up to her to make it a reality, and I watched raptly as her name was called, the last one to go since she'd started the night in first place.

   All she needed to take first place again was 148.82 points, and we'd be in the clear, and I watched as her sweet face filled the screen, the music slow and dreamy to match her flowing costume. Her very first jump was supposed to be a triple axel, but as she geared up for it, I knew something was wrong. Her skate caught on a rut, and instead of three revolutions, she only made two. 

   It was a shock, since nothing ever seemed to go wrong for the girl, and I ended up with my hand over my mouth as I studied her face. Something was off about her tonight, and I silently cheered her on, trying to send good thoughts, calming thoughts to her to get herself back on track, but it was obvious that the first mistake threw her completely off. It bled through the rest of her routine, and though she didn't miss any more jumps, they weren't as polished as they normally were. Her spark, her personality was dissipating.

   Easy to forget that she was just a kid, and I knew when the music ended that she was going to be harder on herself than any critic ever would. So lost in what was happening to her, I didn't even stop to consider what it meant for me until her score flashed on the screen.

   147.96

   Donna Poole hugged me as the crowd gasped and let loose, pandemonium exploding around me as I was frozen to the spot, watching my name stay in the top position. A gold circle was next to my name, a silver next to Beth's, and a bronze next to Donna's. 

   Officials were shouting for me to come back out, and I had to be helped up, in some sort of shock as I walked back down the runway to where Beth was standing, crying into Hershel's arms. When she saw me approaching, she gave me a teary smile, and I immediately went to her, ignoring the cheers and impatient crowd. 

   Though I didn't know what it was like to be a sixteen-year-old girl who just lost the most coveted medal in the Olympics, I did know what it was like to be a young girl that faced disappointment, and I took her by the face, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. 

   "Congratulations," she cried, placing her hands on my waist, and I shook my head. 

   "I'm so sorry, love, but you'll be back here in four years, I know it."

   I wasn't going to be coming back, I knew it right then. The same drive that pushed Negan, pushed Beth, hell, even pushed Spencer wasn't inside me. It was enough to be here today, walking away with something that I hadn't even considered that I'd get in the first place, and I kissed her on the forehead before finally acknowledging the crowd, stepping out as my eyes filled with tears, this time not believing that the emotion was a weakness.

   Somehow, amongst the thousands of people that were looking at me in that moment, I was able to find one pair of brown eyes, shining as brightly as my own, his hand blowing me a kiss that was genuine, tossing a huge bouquet of red and yellow roses at my feet, his way of telling me that he'd be there when I stepped off of the ice.


	12. Eat, Pray, Love

 

The crowd was dense, and I fought my way through a group of Swedes that were dancing in a circle, undulating back and forth as the music blared out, some Eastern Euro-pop that I'd never heard. I was searching for anyone that I knew, but I was hopelessly lost in a sea of tall, blonde men, not that I'd normally complain. 

   But after everything I'd just been through, I just wanted to celebrate with the people that meant the most to me. When I skated off of the ice a gold medalist, I was immediately surrounded by cameras, reporters, everyone but Negan, Jesus, and Maggie. 

   I was shuttled from place to place, unable to even call my parents until nearly an hour later when I was deposited back in the locker room with no sign of Simon, only my flowers and my bags. Unable to remember even one of the conversations I had with the reporters, I sat there in a haze until my phone vibrated, breaking through the shock, and I picked it up, hearing my mother crying happily.

   From there, I received two texts telling me to go back and get changed and to meet Negan, Jesus, and everyone else at the raging party that was going on at the Norway house. Simon finally reappeared, hugging me, and we sat for a few minutes in wonder, not even fully processing what we'd been able to accomplish. I guessed that there would be time enough for that in the coming days, and I accepted his offer to get me back to the dorms.

   It wasn't even ten o'clock, and I still felt like there was something I was supposed to do, another event or competition that I still had to prepare for. But I was done. It was over. I was days away from going back to my life, save a few very big changes.

   By ten-thirty, I was on my way to the party, when I really just wanted to decompress somewhere with Negan, yet here I was, making my way through a Swede sandwich looking for him. 

   "Guld!" 

   One of them shouted at me with a grin, and I realized that he meant gold, and I smiled back, as they formed a circle around me, grinding and gyrating along each side of my body.   
Okay, this was getting out of hand, but they were trashed, and they wouldn't let me through until a large hand clamped down on the shortest one's shoulder, pushing him aside. 

   "Let her through, asshole," Daryl ordered, flashing them a look that sent shivers down my spine. I would never want to meet him in a dark alley, and he took my wrist, leading me through the crowd to a set of steps that led up to the second floor. I hadn't even known there was another level, but up we went, along an open area that looked down on the melee towards a set of double doors. 

   An attendant opened them up, and a group of people screamed congratulations in my face, scaring me half to death. There were flowers everywhere, people everywhere, and enough food and drinks to choke a horse. I was hugged, kissed, congratulated, and overwhelmed with everything. By the time I was able to take a breath, I ended up in the corner alone, watching as Jesus began to dance so hilariously that I forgot that I hadn't seen Negan until he came walking through the doors, dressed in a tight pair of black pants and a black button-down shirt, his gold chain peeking through the open collar.

   His hair was slicked back, and he looked like every sinful thought I'd ever had in my life put to flesh. I didn't do anything to attract his attention, I just kept my spot in the corner, enjoying the view. His eyes swept over the crowd, narrowing as he tried to find me, and I saw him become irritated as if I'd shafted him somehow until they finally met mine. 

   The irritation vanished, and he started towards me, his shoulders swaying back and forth in a hypnotic movement, and I pressed myself completely against the wall when he got closer.   
Immediately, the smell of his cologne filled the air, and I tilted my head to look up at him, suddenly feeling self-conscious. This was the first time I was seeing him since I skated my heart out. Literally. And now we were surrounded by dozens of people, but it didn't stop him from dipping his head to kiss the tip of my nose.

   "Hello, beautiful," he purred, running his nose along my cheek. "How do you feel?"

   "Disconnected," I murmured, placing my hand on his chest. I could feel the muscles underneath his shirt, and I took a deep breath. "I keep expecting to feel happy, or thrilled, but I don't. It's like I'm waiting for something else to happen."

   "I know," he said, continuing to rub his nose on my skin, making it hard to concentrate. "I felt the same way the first time. It'll take some time to sink in."

   "Where were you? I thought you would've been here before me."

   "I had to take care of a few things. But since I've got you alone for a minute, there's something I have to tell you," he stepped back without a smile, and I felt my heart falter slightly. "Last night, at the party, I...slept with someone."

   "What? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

   After everything that we talked about yesterday, everything he told me, he turns around and fucks someone? Seriously, what the fuck was wrong with him?

   "Hold on," he said, holding up his hands as I turned three shades of red. This was just great. I open up, finally let my walls down, and he jumps into bed with some floozie at a party. "Let me explain."

   "Fuck you, you asshole," I stood up to my full height with my fist clenched. 

   "It was Daryl and Jesus," he smirked, watching me flounder around in confusion until he started to laugh. "The must've passed out in my bed, and I woke up to find them snuggled up together next to me."

   "You-" I stammered, "you let me think that you screwed some random bimbo just to be funny?"

   The smile faded as he took a half a step back. "It sounded funnier in my head."

   "Jesus!"

   It was so loud that everyone in the room looked over at me as I stared him down, waiting for my drunk little friend to come sauntering over. 

   "Hello, love," he called, giving me a sloppy kiss as Negan watched me warily. "Why are you hiding in the corner when you should be half-naked on the dance floor?"

   "Hey," I snapped my fingers, and he blinked at me. "Focus for a second. Did you sleep with Negan last night? You and Daryl?"

   "Fuck yes, we did," he giggled, sounding like a drunken idiot. "He smells delicious by the way. Snores, though."

   Negan rolled his eyes as I smiled, tucking Jesus's hair behind his ear.

   "Thank you, Papa Bear. And thank you for keeping an eye on him last night."

   Jesus blinked once, though I think he was attempting to wink at me, and I let him dance off towards Daryl, who was sitting down with a plate of food that was piled so high, it was a wonder that it didn't collapse in on itself. 

   "A little tip for you," I said, sipping on my drink, "don't ever do that again."

   "Duly noted."

   People drifted in and out as we stood there mostly in silence, just looking at each other until he asked me if I wanted to leave, and I nodded once. Negan took me by the hand, leading me slowly through the room so that I could say my goodbyes, and we went back down the steps through the even drunker outside crowd, pushing our way to the outer door.  
It was cold outside, and I zipped up my coat, sticking my hands in my pockets. My medals were safely stored away in my room, and I started to lead him back towards the dorm, but he tugged me to a stop.

   "I thought we'd go back to the hotel for some privacy."

   "Oh, okay. Just let me grab some things," I said, but he kept his hand on my arm, pulling out his phone and pressing a few buttons. "No need. I've already taken care of it." 

   Too wired to question it, the two of us made our way to the front of the village where a limousine was idling in front of the guard station. A man in a full chauffer's uniform got out to open the car door, and I climbed in, looking around discreetly. I'd never ridden in a limo, and it exceeded my expectations. Plush seats, ambient lighting, and a nice bottle of champagne sitting on ice. Being with Negan really had its perks, and he sat down next to me, opening the bottle as the driver pulled out to take us downtown.

   "Shall we toast to you?" he asked, popping the cork easily, and I held out two glasses for him to pour a bit into. It fizzled up almost to the top of the glass before settling back down, and he set the bottle back into the ice, taking one of the flutes before turning so that he was facing me.

   "How about to us?" I offered, clinking my glass with his. "We're both winners here."

   "Yes, we are."

   The limo swayed softly as we sipped at the champagne, and I leaned back against the headrest, studying the lines of his face, the stubble along his jaw, and his fingers as they played with the top of his glass, and all the while he did the same to me. As much as I wanted to reach out and touch him, the anticipation, the waiting was very erotic, and I licked my lips, tasting the last remnants of Dom Perignon on them before setting the empty flute aside. 

   Negan's side was just barely brushing the outside of my arm, and it was tingling from the contact with him, a combustible feeling of wanting to physically seal my feelings for him, and I mentally urged the driver to hurry the hell up since I didn't want to have sex with him in this car. I wanted him to be laying on the bed, all nude and long-legged, brushing that stubble on my skin.

   "Oh, honey, if you keep making those noises, I'm going to end up with a lot more than a sprained neck," he moaned, leaning over and running his tongue across my lips. I hadn't even known I'd made a noise, and I raised my hand, using my index finger to push him away lightly. 

   "Keep it in your pants, baby," I teased him, and he stiffened, gazing down at my lips. 

   "Call me that again."

   "Call you what?"

   "Natalie," he warned me, moving so that we were almost kissing. "I will punish you if you continue to misbehave. Do you remember a few nights ago when you couldn't keep your hands off of my very fine ass?"

   Oh, I didn't need a reminder about his very fine ass, and I reached in between us, unzipping my jacket so that the top of my chest was exposed, and he looked down before immediately snapping his eyes back up to mine. 

   "You can't punish me, _baby_ ," I said in a teasing voice. "I know for a fact that you want this just as much as I do, but you need me a hell of a lot more than I need you."

   "How the fuck do you figure that?"

   "Who do you think is going to be doing all of the work?" I asked him, tilting my head to the side and nibbling on his neck just under his jaw, the skin moving up and down as he swallowed hard. "You can't move your neck, which means you won't be lying on top of me. Teasing me. Taunting me. Setting the pace when you're thrusting inside me. No, _baby_ ," I sighed, walking my fingers up his chest and setting them softly on the side of his face. "It's _you_ who shouldn't make _me_ dole out any punishments."

   I was coming out of my disconnection, and I rubbed my leg against his knee as the limo slowed down, glancing over his shoulder to see that we were pulling up to his hotel, and he sat back, giving a pained grunt.

   "Who _are_ you, sweetheart?"

   "I don't know," I smiled, "but I'm starting to figure it out."

   Propriety dictated that we not act like we were walking into a flophouse, and I waited for Negan to step out before I slid towards the door, straightening myself up before joining him on the sidewalk. He took my hand, leading me into the hotel and whisking me onto the elevator before I even got a good look around. But Negan didn't want me looking around. He wanted my eyes on him, and him alone as he backed me into the corner after pressing the button for his floor. 

   "I've been waiting for this for two fucking weeks," he snarled, pressing his chest against mine as we started to rise. "Every time you rubbed that body up on me, every time you used those little fingers of yours to squeeze my ass. Oh, it's all coming back to me now. If I didn't want to bury myself inside you so badly," I shuddered mightily as his breath spilled onto my face, "I would make you spend the next two weeks going through what I did."

   I wasn't sure if my knees were going to buckle or if I was just affected by the rapid stop of the lift, but when the bell dinged, I ducked under his arm, lurching out of the door into a penthouse suite, and not a hallway. A sunken living room in front of me, based around a very large fireplace which was roaring nicely. On each table, there were crystal vases with dozens of red and yellow roses, and a silk nightgown was laid out on the arm of a black sofa, a pretty silvery color. 

   My bags were also sitting by the table, and I spun around to face him, narrowing my eyes even though I was still in the throes of lust. 

   "When did you do this? How long did it take you plan this?"

   "I had to haul fucking ass after I left the arena," he grinned. "I wasn't sure if you were going to tell me to 'fuck off' on the ice or not. So, while you were otherwise occupied, I had Jesus help me get your stuff moved out of the dorm, and I have no intentions of letting you leave this room anytime soon."

   He took a step forward, and I took a step back, holding up my hand for him to wait, but he kept advancing towards me until I spoke.

   "Hold up a minute," I told him, slipping out of my jacket. "I think we should have a long talk about this. About what this means for us."

   His shoulders were set, and he let out a long, slow breath before nodding slightly, and I eased myself forward, placing my hand gently on his chest as I peered up at him, seeing the hesitation in his face. My fingers curled into the lapel of his jacket, and I grinned cheekily as his brows furrowed.

   "I'm just kidding," I told him, pulling at the material, as he relaxed. "Just take off your clothes for fuck's sake."

   The jacket dropped to the floor as I began to unbutton his shirt, spreading it completely open as he lifted the hem of my shirt, tossing it aside as soon as I was free of it, and I stood on my tiptoes, kissing him hungrily, the pent-up arousal and frustration of the last two weeks bleeding out of my touch and his. 

   While our mouths were locked on each other, I worked to unzip his pants, sliding my hand down into them as they sagged on his hips, grasping him firmly as he groaned into my opened lips. My other hand gripped his ass, kneading it, the strong muscles responding under my ministrations until he bit down on my lip, twisting his fingers into my hair and tilting my head back. 

   I ran my teeth along my bottom lip, enjoying the fact that he was so hard, so ready for me, but he was much stronger than me, and he worked himself free, pinning my arms above my head, panting harder than I was. Negan held both of my wrists in one hand, using the other to expertly unhook my bra, palming my breasts until they were free before undoing my pants and advancing them down my hips until they were pooled around my ankles.

   If he could bend his neck any easier, I'm sure that he would've bent down to taste me, but as it was, we were stuck in a stalemate until I finally whimpered angrily, and he let my arms drop to my sides. I quickly divested myself of all of my clothing before doing the same to him, leaving us facing each other completely exposed for the first time. 

   I'd seen him in a towel in the locker room, but I'd never seen him totally nude, and it was a sight to behold. Tall, muscled, and very well endowed, I was on the verge of dropping to my knees and thanking God when he pulled me flush against him kissing me ferociously as he guided me back towards the fireplace. 

   Awkwardly, carefully, we got down so that he was on his back with his head on the plush rug, the light from the fire dancing off of his body, and I stretched myself out beside him, running my hands up and down his chest, my nails trailing lightly over the planes of his stomach. He turned his head as much as he could, and I started at his neck, feathering kisses down to his collarbone as he clawed at my shoulder, trying to get me on top of him, but I was going to take my time. 

   Every patch of hair, every tiny scar from his battles on the ice, it was mine to explore, and after two weeks of being brought to the brink only to get shut down, I was soaking in it, soaking in him.

   Half of my body was bathed in fire, and the other half was cooled by the chilly air from the other side, and it struck me as a perfect metaphor for both Negan and I. The fiery man and the Ice Queen, coming together and neither one could overpower the other. 

   I swung my legs over his hips, my elbows on either side of his head, and I moved slowly from side to side, letting the coarse hair on his chest harden my nipples, though the look that he was giving me wasn't dampening my desire either. Half-lidded, burning irises, and two meaty hands that clamped onto my ass so hard that there were going to be very distinctive bruises in the morning.

   Though he was a manwhore of the highest proportions, we'd talked about sex, and he got tested every three months, so I was reasonably sure that he was safe to sleep with. There were condoms at the ready in the Olympic Village for the athletes, and when I'd thought there was a chance before, I'd snagged some, so I had some at the bottom of my purse. But for some reason, I wanted to feel him inside me the first time, nothing separating us at all, and I weirdly thanked my mom in my head for putting me on the pill as soon as I was old enough to drive.

   Negan's hands moved to my waist, picking me up off of the floor and depositing me right where I needed to be, and I sat up straight, wiggling my hips as his rock hard erection twitched, delaying the inevitable moment when he'd be finally inside me.

   "Sweetheart?"

   "What?" I gasped, reaching in between us circling my thumb around the tip.

   "I know laying here by the fire was my idea, but my back is fucking killing me down here," he confessed as I started to laugh, letting him go as I bent over him, draping myself over his chest. 

   "My knees are on fire," I said as his chest started to move up and down in response. "This is not as comfortable as I thought it would be, but I was going to power through it for you."

   "All right, Hellcat, help me up so that we can do this right," he said, and we both rolled to the side. Heaving ourselves up was decidedly unsexy, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed, reclining back on his elbows, I was flushed with heat. I wanted him badly and was going to have him. I'd waited long enough for what I wanted, and with two quick steps, I was straddling his waist as he sat up, guiding him into me in a smooth, fluid motion. 

   Both of us huffed at the same time as I sank down onto his lap all of the way, our bodies meeting fully, and I let my head drop backward as I felt his beard brushing my neck.

   "Fucking finally," I smiled, beginning to move up and down slowly, getting used to the feel of Negan inside me, bracing myself on his shoulders so that I could set a pace that felt good to both of us. He was large, and it stretched me out, filled me up so much that I felt full and satiated, that sensation of a long-simmering itch finally getting scratched.

   I was scratched everywhere, from his bristles on the base of my neck to the nails that dug into my ass, trying to speed me up, but I wasn't going to make this go any faster than I wanted to, and I slapped his face, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get his attention, and he glared at me in the sexiest way.

   "I told you since I was doing all of the work, we're going to do it my way," I panted, rotating my hips in a circle, making him brush up against my g-spot. 

   "I'm not going to be hurt for forever," he warned me, "so anything you do to me is going to come back fucking tenfold on you. Remember that."

   True, but there was nothing he could do about it now as I concentrated on the slow burn that was collecting at my core, simmering and bubbling up in little waves, that joyous anticipation of a full-on explosion, and I upped my pace as he let go of my ass and tipped me back so that he could bury his head between my breasts. 

   Tongue and teeth grazed against my nipples, jolting me straight down between my thighs, and I bounced higher, faster, using every muscle available to me to raise the friction to a burning pace, matched only by the alternating breaths between us until I spasmed uncontrollably, the sweet release making me push him back onto the mattress so that I could ride out the waves as I saw fit.

   I was overstimulated, raw, as I kept going, feeling him jerk into me, spilling everything out as he moaned out my name, forcing me down to his mouth so that he could invade me with his tongue, sucking the breath from my body. 

   Both of us were sweaty and tired when I finally crawled off of him, laying on my side as he stared up at the ceiling with sleepy eyes and a slight smile on his face. Tracing the little pool of liquid that glistened across his chest, I kissed his shoulder as he tried to turn his head to look at me, wincing when it didn't work.

   "So, now what?" I murmured, making the same circle over and over on his stomach, liking that his muscles contracted each time I reached the same spot. 

   "Now we eat, sweetheart. I'm starving, so you have to be fucking ravenous. I mean, it's not like we have anywhere to go tomorrow."

   I'd always enjoyed a good meal after a competition, and tonight was no exception. Slipping on the nightgown he'd gotten me, I went to the bar and grabbed the room service menu, studying it to see what sounded good while Negan got some pants and a shirt on, raising the thermostat since it was still a bit chilly in the room. 

   Thirty minutes later, we sat on the couch with enough food to feed a small village. Steak, Pommes Frites, chocolate mousse. I ate like I'd missed three meals as Negan watched me with a contemplative smile, and I curled my toes into his thigh, taking another bite of steak.

   "Do I even want to know what you're thinking about right now?" I asked, plucking another fry and pointing it at him.

   "It's all good things, sweetheart."

   "Like?"

   "All in due time. We have nothing but time, now."


	13. Finale

   "Goddamnit, Murphy!"

   The dog dropped the shirt in his mouth, looking at me with big, brown eyes as I walked into the living room to find the pile of clothes that I'd folded scattered across the floor, most of them covered in dog spit. 

   "I know you love Daddy more than me, but if you keep doing this every time he leaves the house, I'm going to kill you."

   Negan hated when I called him Daddy in reference to the dog, yet I'd walked in on him countless times talking to Murphy in a baby voice, calling him Moofy Woofy, spoiling him with treats. It's no wonder I'd been replaced. 

   I bent down to pick up the ruined clothes, feeling a wicked pull in my back as it locked into place, knocking the wind out of me. A sharp, stinging pain took its place, and I dropped to my hands and knees with a cry, unable to straighten up. 

   "Motherfucker," I shrieked, shooing the dog away as he tried to lick my face, and I crawled slowly to the couch where my phone was laying. I was stuck on the ground, and I reached awkwardly to dial the last number that I'd called, putting it on speakerphone.

   It rang three times before a male voice answered, and I let out a hoarse sound.

   "Who is this?"

   "Jesus, it's me. I just pulled my fucking back out and I'm stuck on the ground. Can you come over?"

   "You know, if I was straight, I'd think this was a ploy to get me over to your house for some nookie," he chirped, but I was not in the teasing mood. 

   "I'm serious," I pleaded as the dog started to bark. "I'm stuck and I'm getting shooting pains."

   "I'll be there in five," he said, hanging up, and bent my head, trying to figure out if I could roll to the side. But every time I moved, I got another shooting pain up my spine, and I gave up.

   Jesus lived a few streets over, and I saw him almost daily. Right after the Olympics, Daryl was traded to Negan's team before the deadline, though he claimed he had nothing to do with it. But they'd worked so well together that Daryl held the team together until the playoffs when Negan was cleared to return, and they made it to the Stanley Cup Finals before being dispatched in six games. 

   Immediately after, Daryl signed a long-term contract, and Jesus started house hunting in town since he decided to retire from professional skating.

   "I've won medals, I've won championships, what else is there, really?" he'd told me when we went to our fifth open house. "I don't need it anymore. I found something else to fulfill me."

   And he did. Hampton Heights was the name of the neighborhood that Negan, Daryl, and a few other players lived in, and Jesus became the unofficial mayor of said community, organizing parties, picnics, and skating lessons for the kids in the neighborhood. I was roped into it by default, and Negan became more involved with the neighbors, something he hadn't done in the entire time he'd lived there. 

   He was no longer a single man, and his next-door neighbor, Sherry, was 'kind' enough to tell me that I was the best woman he'd ever brought home. I knew that she meant it as a compliment, but it kept us from forming a friendship for the first few months until she realized that I wasn't going anywhere. 

   From then on, though, she warmed up to me, and I found myself branching out from the skating circles I'd usually occupied, finding other hobbies. I still competed in those first few months, but I found that the ambition that had pushed me for so many years was dissipating, and I had my mother to thank. Her health had started to rebound with some experimental treatments, and she was now able to walk for short periods of time. 

   She and my father were throwing themselves headlong into life, and it inspired me to do the same. I traveled with Negan when I could, planned trips for us when he had breaks in his schedule, and just lived. I couldn't ask for a better partner to experience all that life offered me, and he made it fun. The man that seemed like such an asshole when I'd first met him was fun.

   He was foulmouthed, obstinate, passionate, and he made my knees weak in every way. Each time he'd walk in the door, I'd have to mentally pinch myself to confirm the fact that he was mine. Mine in heart, body, and soul. He told me that over and over until I finally started to believe it. 

   When I won the gold, it opened up some doors for me, and I made some money in endorsements, all of which he invested for me. Negan was a millionaire a hundred times over, and I trusted him when he said he wanted to make sure I was taken care of. Though he tried to pay for anything and everything, I wasn't some freeloader, and I stepped up when I could until we ended up combining our assets.

   Marriage will do that, I guess. 

   He'd proposed after sex, of course. An hours-long torture session for me, one that I thought he'd forgotten to dole out. He'd bring me to the brink of orgasm, only to deny me with a malicious glint. Over and over, until I was in tears, begging for release, and when he finally granted it to me, I'd left long, deep scratches across the expanse of his back, flopping onto my stomach in exhaustion, unable to keep my eyes open.

   Negan was still in that post-coital state, the vulnerability that he usually stowed away raw and exposed, and he ran the tips of his fingers across my bare back, sweeping my hair away from my face as I drowsed next to him.

   "Marry me, sweetheart."

   I'd mumbled out a 'sure', thinking that it was just pillow talk, but he came home the next day with an engagement ring and a list of reasons why we should get married, all of which I tried to argue against, but lost.

   Jesus didn't get to plan the glamorous wedding for me that he wanted. No, we ended up on a beach in the Bahamas, with just our close friends and family, saying our vows to each other with plain bands. It was romantic, windy, and the best night of sex I'd ever had, laid out in a cabana under the stars, the gentle lapping of the night ocean right outside, and the sexiest man I'd ever known devouring every inch of me.

   It's not to say that we don't have our fights. We've had some big ones. Like the time I finally figured out that Negan had slept with Sherry. It was before I came along, but she had been married, and it let to a huge blow-up, with me leaving for four days and staying with Jesus and Daryl. The fact that he'd been a man with many issues wasn't a surprise, but the idea that he'd slept with a woman who'd been married, to a friend of his no less, was a blow, one that took the shine off of him. I mean, I never thought that he was perfect. Christ knows I knew that he wasn't, just from my own experiences with him. But in the haze of our new love and bliss, it was easy to forget.

   I've made mistakes of my own, too. An error in judgment that ended up bringing us closer. It started with a confession by Negan, a call late in the night that woke me from a sound sleep. He sounded like he'd been crying, and I turned on the light in our bedroom as he rambled about how much he loved me, and that he still needed me to remind him that he wasn't the things he always thought he was.

   "Negan, what happened?" I interrupted him, listening to only heavy breathing at the other end of the line until he confessed what he'd almost done.

   "There was this girl," he stuttered. "She...I almost went home with her tonight. But I didn't."

   It was enough to take my breath away. We were married, only a few months in, and he was on the verge of repeating the same mistakes of his first marriage. 

   "Why? Why would you even consider it?" I gasped, and his voice broke.

   "Because I'm a piece of shit," he mumbled. "It's so easy to forget when I'm away from you. Fucking....there's just so many fucking people that tell me what I want to hear. Treat me like I'm a fucking god, and I get lost in thinking that I am. But I didn't do it, Nat, I swear on my life. The second I thought about what it would do to you, I walked away. I don't want to lie to you. I want you to know that I'm going to do this right."

   I sat with the phone at my ear, thoughts of Negan with the women of his past flashing through my mind, and it made me sick. He was mine. He belonged to me, and I hung up on him, throwing the phone across the room. Here I was, in his house, taking care of his life for him while he traveled all over for games, and he left me as an afterthought. It wasn't true, obviously, but I was heartbroken that the man that lived with so much regret about the way he'd treated Lucille, was precipitously close to making the same choices again.

   It spurred me out of the bed and into a dress, downtown to the bar that Jesus had asked me to go to earlier in the evening. I'd declined, not wanting to sit around with a bunch of single, horny people, but given the fact that my husband had no problems doing so, I threw caution to the wind, trying to find out what it was like to be him.

   I was no Negan, but I'd had my fair share of admirers over the years. Unlike him, though, I'd dedicated myself to my skating and had never taken advantage of it. That night, though, I wanted to throw my line into the water to see if I got any nibbles. I'd planned to throw the catch back into the water.

   Diesel was a full capacity as I strolled in, weaving in and out of drunk patrons, looking for Jesus. He was in the center of the dance floor, the first place I should've looked, and he was surrounded by men and women, all of whom were completely besotted with the long-haired beauty that was moving seductively to the beat, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, lost in the music. 

  I fought my way through the crowd, touching him on the shoulder, and when he opened his eyes, he grinned, pumping his fists in victory before leading me over to the bar to get a drink. 

   "What made you change your mind?" he asked, shouting in my ear so that I could hear him over the music.

   "Negan did. He almost went home with some girl tonight."

   "What?"

   It was a shriek, and he pulled me into a dark corner as I told him about my phone call, his face dropping further with each word I said. 

   "Don't do anything stupid, Nat," he warned me, and I chugged down my beer.

   "I'm not doing anything. I'm not him. I just want him to worry about me for once instead of the other way around. Every night I sit at home alone, waiting to hear from him. Have you ever known me to be like that in my life?"

   "No," he admitted. "But that's been your choice, not Negan's orders. You can be a good wife and still be your own person."

   "I know that. That's why I'm here. You go out, and you and Daryl are still as much in love as you were when you met. I just want to have some fun, okay? I don't want to lay in bed and think about the fact that Negan actually even contemplated going home with someone else."

   So I got drunk and I danced. I ignored Negan's phone calls and I drank some more. Too much, and I ended up in a dark hallway with a guy who tried to kiss me, running his hands up and down the sides of my body, shocking me back into reality. He was cute, this nameless guy, with messy hair and long, thick lashes. 

   As soon as his lips touched mine, I realized the mistake I was about to make, and I pushed him away, staggering back to Jesus in tears. The party was over for me, and he took me home, helping me to bed where I passed out with my phone clutched in my hand. 

   I was still out when Negan got home the next morning, sitting down on the bed next to me, taking in my outfit and makeup smeared face. It didn't take a genius to figure out what I'd been up to, and when I finally woke up, he was leaning against the headboard, patiently waiting. 

   What followed was a very long talk about us, about the hurts of our pasts, and a promise to communicate always. Some of it wasn't easy to hear, and the look on Negan's face when I told him about the night before actually caused me physical pain, but he had a better understanding of the damage that he'd inflicted on others, and it led to a turning point in our relationship. More specifically, the dawning of a new change.

   Negan announced at the beginning of the season that it would be his last year playing. That he wanted to spend time at home with his family, enjoying his life. Starting his life, and he was hoping to go out on top, with one last Cup run. The season was a grind, but he put his all into his final one, turning it into a retirement tour, and I joined him whenever I could. He was finally home for a playoff game, and he'd left me early in the morning for a pregame practice when I had my unfortunate 'incident'.

   "Hello?"

   Jesus called out as he opened the door, and I gave a pained yell that I was in the living room. I heard a chuckle behind me and I let out a whimper.

   "Why do I have the feeling that you spend a lot of your nights in this exact same position?"

   "Please help me," I whimpered as his feet came into view. "I'm really hurting."

   "All right, calm down. What do you want me to do?"

   "I need you to get me upright, and take me to the hospital," I said through gritted teeth as he got behind me, trying to lift me up. My lower body seized up, and he froze with me half up. "Just do it," I barked, and he grunted as I was able to get my feet under me, starting to cry as my back screamed in protest. 

   He guided me out to the car, helping me in as I shut my eyes, feeling like my back was broken. The pain came in waves, and I all wanted was for someone to sever my spine so that I'd never feel anything again.

   "Should I call Negan?"

   "No," I told him, digging my fingers into my thigh. "Nothing he can do for a back injury. He's got a big game tonight."

   Jesus muttered under his breath, but he didn't push me, and we drove to the hospital, with him fetching me a wheelchair at the emergency drop-off. The pain would ebb and then rebound every few minutes, and I started to get a bad feeling in my gut, as I moved into the triage.

   The nurse asked me a few questions before wheeling me into a room, and I gingerly got myself into the bed to wait for the doctor. Jesus flopped down in the chair, pouting, but I refused to let him call Negan and he turned on the television, ignoring me at first until I started to cry when the pain returned.

   "It hurts," I whimpered, and he handed me a tissue, rubbing my arm briskly until Dr. DiDomenico came in with a chart and a nurse to assist. 

   "Natalie, tell me what happened," he said gently, coming around behind me to look at my back while I explained what led me to the emergency room. He poked and prodded certain areas before asking Jesus if he could have a minute alone with me. 

   As soon as the door shut, he asked me to get on my back, helping me as I rolled over. 

   "I think you might have started labor."

   "But I'm not having contractions," I shook my head in denial. "It's my back that hurts."

   "You could be presenting with back labor, but you're thirty-nine weeks, and you were fifty percent effaced when I saw you a few days ago. I need to check you out to see where you're at, okay?"

   I wasn't ready for this, but I nodded anyway, allowing him to spread my legs and feel inside of me. 

   Labor. 

   When I'd found out I was pregnant right before the season started, it was a shock to be sure. I'd been on the pill, so I'd foolishly assumed I was fine. One missed pill was all it took, and I was staring at two pink lines in disbelief. 

   While I'd been ambivalent, Negan was ecstatic, wanting to tell anyone and everyone that we were expecting. I'd forced him to keep his mouth shut until we passed the first trimester, and by then he was already heavy into the season, fighting to remain at the top of the standings. When he was away on extended road trips, my mom and dad came to stay, helping me with the daily chores and decorating of the nursery. 

   We were having a girl, and Negan had given me carte blanche to do whatever I wanted to the room, but I kept it simple, in creams and pale rose. The decorations didn't matter to me. The precious gift that would be living in there did. 

   From the moment Negan found out I was pregnant, it changed everything about him. The drive to win was still there, but I noticed that it wasn't the be-all end-all for him. I was. The baby was, and it felt like there was almost an impatience that took over for him to get through the season so that he could be done for good. 

   Backrubs, foot rubs, I got it all. Tender sex, crazy, no holds barred poundings. Whatever I wanted for eight months. And what I wanted the most was to give Negan blowjobs. I have no idea why, but it turned me on like nothing else, the feel of him in my mouth, the little noises he'd make, the way he'd pull my hair. It really got my motor revving, and as soon as he'd come, I'd sit back in satisfaction, waiting for him to get hard again so that I could straddle him, and he'd last so much longer the second time. 

   It got to the point that as soon as he'd walk into the door, he'd see the look on my face and go immediately to the couch, the bedroom, anywhere that was closest, indulging my odd kink without complaint. Not that he'd ever complained about such a thing, but he knew that if he denied me, I'd be a raging beast. The urge only backed off in the past week or so, when I'd become so swollen and uncomfortable that all I wanted to do was clean and lounge around. 

   But now, I was terrified. I'd had nine months to mentally prepare for the change in my life, but it was always just out there in the distance, and now it was in motion with no way to stop it. I was not in control anymore, the baby was, and I had to suck it up.

   "You're almost fully effaced and seven centimeters dilated," he announced to my clearly shocked face. 

   "But I haven't had any contractions! Just back pain and it hasn't been that long."

   "Labor is a mystery, dear," the doctor smiled as I started to cry again. "Sometimes it takes two days, and others it takes two hours. All I can tell you is that you're close to active labor, so you might want to call your husband and tell him to get here. Now, as soon as you're ready, you can have the epidural if you want it."

   "I'd like it as soon as you get me upstairs," I sniffled, feeling the sharp pains in my back again, but this time, I noticed the tightening of my stomach, which I hadn't recognized before. I guess because the pain behind it was worse than what was happening in my belly. 

   Dr. DiDomenico patted my hand before opening the door, and Jesus stepped back in, seeing that I was bawling, and he rushed over, cupping my face.

   "I'm in labor," I sobbed while he tried to figure out what to do that wouldn't upset me even more.

   "Well, that's bound to happen when you're pregnant," he tried, and I started to cry harder. "I'll call Negan."

   "No, I'll do it," I held out my hand, and he rummaged through my purse until he found my phone, placing it in my grip. 

   It rang twice before he picked up, and I could hear guys in the background talking.

   "Hey, sweetheart," he said, and I cut him off.

   "I'm at the hospital and I'm in labor. Can you pick up my bag and get here? I'm already seven centimeters dilated and my back hurts."

   It was a lot of information to throw at him in one breath, but he rolled with it like a champ, shouting out that he had to go, and I heard him struggling to get changed as I cried into his ear. 

   "I'll be there, Nat. Just hang in there, okay?" he said, his breath sawing in and out as he ran. The nurse came in to get me moved, and I hung up on him without saying goodbye.

   "Good morning," she chirped, putting my things on the bed between my legs before preparing to transfer me to a wheelchair. "Are we ready to have a baby?"

   "No," I snapped as Jesus helped me to my feet, and I saw her shrug it off out of the corner of my eye. She was probably used to taking all sorts of verbal abuse.

   My birthing room was light, airy, and I couldn't give a shit less as I continued to have contractions, stripping off my clothes and putting on one of the blue hospital gowns while the nurse encouraged me to walk around to help with the back pains. She received a scathing look in response, but I kept myself on my feet, bracing my back as I walked in slow circles. 

   I was able to keep myself in shape throughout the pregnancy, so I didn't gain a lot of weight, but it didn't stop my joints from swelling and my stomach from popping out. While I roamed uncomfortably, fighting each aching pain as it came, Jesus got on the phone, calling my mom and dad, Maggie, Daryl and anyone else he could think of to tell them. My parents were overjoyed and planning on taking the next flight out, while Daryl and Maggie asked to be kept updated.

   Negan came barreling through the door exactly thirty minutes after I'd been transferred, and he looked disheveled. His shirt was untucked, his hair was sweaty, and he was carrying my flowered bag in one hand and his phone in the other. 

   "I'm here," he announced like I didn't notice, and I limped over to him, throwing my arms around his waist as he tossed my bag onto the couch.

   "I'm not ready for this," I sobbed, squeezing him harder as another pain ripped through my back and around to my stomach. 

   "Honey, we'll be fine," he murmured, kissing the top of my head. "You've never failed at anything. You'll get through this like a champ."

   We stood there together for a few minutes until Jesus excused himself to go to the waiting room, and my new nurse, Jennifer, came in with the anesthesiologist to give me an epidural. Negan stood in front of me, holding my hands as they stuck the needle into my spine, a small inconvenience once the meds kicked in and I fell into a blissful state that was pain-free. 

   I napped for a few minutes, waking only when the little alarm that they'd attached to my stomach started to beep. The nurse came in, looking at the screen, and she told me to turn onto my side to take some pressure off of the baby. 

   Negan stood over my bed the entire time, feeding me ice chips and rubbing my shoulders and placing soft kisses on my face. 

   Dr. DiDomenico came in two hours after I got my epidural, checking me and declaring that it was time to push. He was a somewhat progressive physician, and he offered me the opportunity to sit up and use a birthing bar so that Negan could sit behind me. Gravity would help to push the baby into the canal, and he said it was more effective than just lying on my back.

   They'd turned down the epidural, so the pain was back, and I agreed to try, scooting to the edge of the bed once I got the feeling back in my legs. Negan got on the bed behind me, putting his legs on either side of mine and his arms on the top of my stomach, kissing the side of my neck while the doctor and nurses got everything ready.

   "Okay, Natalie, when the next contraction starts, I want you to bear down for the duration of the tightness, okay?"

   I was sweating, nervous, and afraid, but when I felt that overwhelming pressure, I did what he asked, using the bar as leverage while Negan murmured encouraging words in my ear.

   The labor was a blur of pain and release, hard work and tears until the baby was finally out. Fat, pink and with a set of lungs that rivaled Negan's, they placed her in my arms as the two of us reclined back on Negan's chest, looking at each other with wide eyes.

   We were parents, him and I, and I looked at this pink, angry girl, suddenly reminded of an interview that I'd done after arriving back to the States with my gold medal.

   The anchor of a local morning show asked me how it felt to leave Geneva with a such a distinguished and coveted symbol. I'd told her that the medal was worth so much more than just the acknowledgment of the work that I'd put into my skating. I left with more than just that. 

   I left there with Negan and a sense of myself, of who I wanted to be, and that, to me, was the ultimate prize.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for allowing me this little indulgence! I will be back to The Bride posthaste!


End file.
